The Fox and the Robin
by Itako Shiann
Summary: 1757. Disguised as a boy, young Robin flees to Glens Falls, New York, to escape her dark past. Traveling with the British reinforcements to Fort William Henry, Robin unknowingly walks into the line of fire. And into the clutches of an angry Huron chief. / Magua OC. / Rating may go up as story continues
1. Chapter 1

a/n – despite his character I really liked Magua, in the movie and the novel. I wanted to show him in a slightly different light and this idea popped in my head. Read on. Note – review the story please, not the grammar or spellings…I don't care :P also I swear no one has heard of this movie ! it's a classic ! Now, some events may follow the movie/novel plots, other bits may not. My story, my rules :3 NOTE – 'Rob' is a girl in disguise…just abit confused as to how to write her gender in this section.

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1757 -

The lovely Munro sisters, Alice and Cora, dressed in their Sunday best, hastily shuffled over the dirt of the fort ground. Loyal redcoat soldiers stood poised, holding the reigns of readied horses and assisting the young Colonel's daughters. Alice Munro, once perched on her favourite, well-bred steed, gestured across the clearing, towards a figure hiked up in one of the towering trees. "Major Heyward, who is that?". The blonde gentle beauty gazed on at the strange but small figure, jostling it's way up the tree, like a bear in search of sweet honey.

Heyward, already mounted on his steed maneuvered to face the direction of the trees. fond recognition flashed across his otherwise wide fair set features. "The boy? Robert Blake, Miss Munro. At least, that's what we call him".

The statement caused a look of confusion for Cora. Finally she asked, "What in heavens is he doing?"

"God only knows, Miss Munro" Major Heyward joking shrugged, adjusting his lavish military cap. "I have it on good authority that he's touched in the head."

"Touched? How so?" Alice empathetically asked. The mere thought of a slow witted child budded Alice nurturing affections.

Heyward shrugged leisurely, as if the matter of the subject was of little interest. Not for their attentions at least. "Never says a word, not since he arrived. But he's a good lad. A good shot too if you give him a rifle. We find odd use for him". Seeing the Munro's interested, Heyward beckoned to the strange child, currently still held up in the trees. "Rob. Robert, my boy, stand to attention"

The trio watched as the figure quickly dismounted from the tree trunk, and darted hastily towards them, before skidding to a clumsy halt.

Heyward addressed the child with a stern, but humorous tone. "Robert, dear boy, what on earth were you up to, in that tree?"

Silently, with big teal eyes, the boy presented muddy little acorns in hand.

"Ah…" The major seemed puzzled for a moment, blinking at the handful of acorns offered in the boy's small grubby hands. "Forging?" he took a wild guess and gingerly smiled in amusement when the youth nodded. "good lad…good lad". Having wasted enough time with trivial matters, the Major coughed, acknowledging his departure as he nudged his horse to walk on, beginning to rally his men to move.

"How revolting…" Cora muttered. Whether she was regarding the acorns, or the boy offering them, was debatable. Her brown eyed gaze further narrowed at the sight of the boy's bare feet, covered in mud and Lord knows what else. The boy was barely dressed, at least by proper standards. His small form was engulfed in a grubby linen shirt, whilst his trousers barely covered his knees. Even more curious was the large hat shadowing the child's features.

Alice empathically protested. "Hush up Cora, I think the boy is sweet. Even if touched". She added a dismissive shrug to the end remark.

Strolling passed on his otherwise wayward mare, the girls' singing teacher, David Gamut, trotted towards them, smiling as always. "Ah talking about young Robert, I presume. The boy sings like an angel". Tenderly, the teacher patted the boy's hat. The two seemed rather fond of each other, oddly enough. Robert, never saying so much as a word in conversation, then Mr. Gamut, who wouldn't be silenced unless bridled with a mouth piece. Opposites were said to attract.

"He sings, but doesn't talk?" Alice looked astonished, if not perplexed. For a moment she regarded the boy before her, who only stared back vacantly. Tilting her head curiously, she regarded him questionably . Yet the impassive expression of the child offered little answer.

"Strange, isn't it?" Mr. Gamut had a fond softness in his eyes. "The Lord works in mysterious ways". With that the jolly singer teacher moved on towards the front of the troops, waiting and conversing with the fellow red coat soldiers, few having stood to attention.

"Indeed…" Cora muttered, shrugging off an ill sensation from down her spine. Cautiously she glanced aside, feeling a thought she was being watched. In such a busy fort, being of such beauty, it was understandable. With sister beside her Cora nudged her faithful horse forward and onwards.

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Hidden amongst the shady cover of the trees, Magua watched the offspring of Grayhair from afar, like a hungry fox waiting for its' next meal to stroll unknowingly closer to his dripping jaws. It was only a matter of time until the white dog and his pups met their end. When the pair of sisters began to move off on horseback, the Sly Fox's eyes shifted to new prey, one of growing interest. He had seen the young white boy often amongst the fort, wondering around aimlessly, in a world of his own it seemed. He seemed uninterested in the affairs around him, indifferent to the older red coat warriors scampering around, like ants at work. In Magua's village, young boys latched them-selves onto a mentor, an experienced brave who trained them into manhood. On occasion the sly fox spied the youth wandering dangerously close to the fort's bordering forest, perhaps picking for nuts and berries. Did the fool not know what dangers lurked nearby? _Like me_. He thought, briefly smirking. Stranger still, Magua swore he heard the boy singing come the early hours of the morning, with the mad man Gamut leading the chanting frenzy. Often annoyed with the rhythmic singing, Magua grudgingly had to admit the sound was not…unpleasant. Entertaining almost, from the boy at least, his voice not yet broken by puberty, though he seemed late into his teens. From a distance, the boy was tall, slender like, with no sign of developing muscle. Magua would dwarf him easily, by at least a foot or two.

_Little Bird_, Magua suddenly thought, chuffing a slight chuckle. Such a name for any brave would be insulting, and yet it fit the youth so well. He would keep it in mind for future reference. Other than the boy's height, the Huron could not tell much else. He had never got close enough to look in detail at the boy, not that he ever even felt the need to. From a distance, in the sun, the boy's short cropped hair flared like copper flames, yet no one could really tell under that oversized hat he piously always wore, knotted securely under his chin to keep it in place. Thinking about it more, Magua felt an itch in his fingers, temptation to just rip the hat off the boy and revel in the little glee he would get. But the youth was also surprisingly skittish, shying away from others very often, having even avoided Magua on more than one occasion.

_And right he should_, Magua thought smugly for a moment, though the amusement died quickly. No. it was not out of fear the boy avoided. There was something more. Self-preservation almost. The boy would dip his head, or look away when passing others, meekly strolling away as if he didn't even exist. And for the most part, it worked. Like a begotten spirit, he was mostly unacknowledged it seemed. But this behavior perplexed Magua. _These white devils and their ways_. He shook his head in confusion and shrugged off the thought.

Perched on an uphill sloop he remained seated, waiting for the English red coats to finally assemble and march. But with Magua's Huron party ready to ambush within days, the English reinforcements would never arrive to at their destination. Momentarily savoring the thought of victory Magua just barely caught the glimpse of movement below him, under the slopping earth. Speak of the devil, as the French said. Little Bird had carelessly strolled right before him, scurrying around through the fallen leafs, seemingly searching for acorns, completely unaware of Magua's presence above him. Stealthy the trained Huron laid on his chest, low on the grassy ground, peering over at Little Bird as he continued his scavenging. Definitely now he could see the copper locks poking out from under the hat, yet his face was still hidden by the over casting shadow it made. Giving into temptation, with no one nearby to concern him-self with, Magua's bear like hand shot out, snatching the hat right off the boy's head, and effortlessly snapping the securing ties from under his chin. The sudden attack threw Little Bird off balance. Like a wilting willow he staggered back, landing on his backside as Magua looked on, chuckling in mockery, going so far as to try the hat on him-self before casting it aside.

"Little Bird should stay close to nest. So easy it would be, to take your scalp". Magua spoke with fluent ease. His voice deep, rough and foreboding. A voice which demanded respect.

Mutely, the child stared up at him. Not in fear, as Magua had previously intended, but instead with silent willfulness. Though stoic and stern in expression Magua had to admit, the boy had bewitching eyes. Earthy grass and ocean waters, mixed into one form. They stood out against the copper locks and speckled bridge freckles over the roof of his nose and cheeks. Coupled with his oval face and strangely high cheekbones, Magua was repulsed! White men, even the boys, were ugly, ugly creatures. Like an autumn leaf, he could crush the boy with his bare hands. The thought set his blood to boil. It was the law of nature. The strong survive by defeating the weak. With a fire suddenly burning in his chest, Magua lunged forward, off the higher sloop, landing inches away from the speechless child.

"Have you no voice, little bird?" Magua decided to toy with the child, curious as to his speaking aliment. He too had heard the small chitchat. It seemed the boy was a mute. And yet it raised a question. Suspiciously Magua inquired, "How can a bird sing, without a voice?"

Without fear Robin continued to stare unnerving at Magua. How uncharacteristic of the otherwise shy boy. The action only further enticed Magua's sudden anger to rise. Menacingly the Huron reached for the dagger at his side, taking a threatening step closer to the youth, who had now finally darted to his feet. Though wide eyed, the boy showed little fear. Magua reluctantly admired that. Stubborn, even in the face of a predator. The boy had courage, but little sense.

"Robert? Rob, my boy" the comforting golly voice of Mr. Gamut chirped suddenly from nearby. The boy took his chance and quickly scurried back, away from Magua and straight to the safety of Gamut's side. Perplexed by the child's sudden dash for safety, Gamut asked lightly, "Why so shaken lad?". The friendly man then glanced up, in regards to Magua. The pair of males said nothing to eachother, and yet a battle of wills was soon engaged. Gamut was not a fighting man, but Magua was not a fool either. Now was not the time to deter his relation with the red coats. His victory would come in due time. Magua said nothing, and simply moved on. The red coats were finally ready to march. Robin watched the sly fox closely, warily at first before feeling the comforting pat of Gamut's hang on her back. "Don't worry about him, dear boy. The old fox's bark his worse than his bite".

If only she thought that were true. But Robin knew all too well. Foxes don't bark. They cry. War cries already began to ring in her mind, causing a shudder down her spine. For the beginning of the trek Robin stayed close to Gamut's side, accompanying Major Heyward and the Munro sisters' whilst on foot. The Huron scout remained infront, never once looking back. Or so she thought. The Sly Fox's eyes were well trained. Nothing could escape his hungry, soulless gaze.

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A/N – right that's it for now. what do you think ? no review, no new chapter ;) I know it was abit confusing with the gender but oh well. Review please. The story, not the grammar!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N – still have enough interest in this story to continue a few chapters. Hope you enjoy. Review the story, not the grammar, thanks - ! just so you know, regarding the sign language, I am NOT using factual signs and symbol references.

_Blah _– thoughts / **Blah **– different language /

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The British red coats had been travelling for hours amongst the ominous scenery of the wilderness. The late afternoon sun, coupled with the humidity further battered the already tired, worn down soldiers. The Munroe sisters lazily perched on their shared horse, staggered and yawned in unfamiliar exhaustion. Taking note of the damsels in mild distress, in his usual tone of authority Major Heyward called for Magua, only a few yards up in front. "You there, Scout! We must rest soon, the women are tired." Major Heyward believed he was doing the most chivalrous thing possible for a gentleman in his position. With his eyes set on the love Alice, a few favours of affection would do him well. But the Huron took little notice.

Magua replied sharply. "No, two leagues, better water. We stop there." That would be the ambush point. The redcoats, amongst the two grass of the clearing, would be like waiting ducks, for the Hurons readily hidden in the forest opposite. The excitement of battle twitched at his fingers.

Major Heyward decisively disagreed. "No, we'll stop in the glade just ahead. When the ladies are rested, we will proceed. Do you understand?" Heyward did not take kindly to the Huron scout challenging his orders.

And it seemed neither did the Huron, as he replied in his native tongue, "**Magua understands that the white man is a dog to his women. When they are tired, he puts down his tomahawk to feed their laziness**_._" He seemed unimpressed, shooting the Munroe sisters a fleeting glare of annoyance.

Quickly Major Heyward inquired "Excuse me, what did you say?" He was suspicious of the Huron scout. He always seemed to hold a hidden agenda. But with little proof, and even fewer resources, he could not afford to lose the valuable scout. He would just have to keep a closer eye on him.

Magua covered his tracks with casual ease. "Magua said... I understand English, very well". Momentarily relenting, the Huron slowed his pace, impatiently waiting as the red coats settled down for this refreshing rest. The tired men huffed and complained, whilst major Heyward and Mr. Gamut entertained the lovely sisters with religious hymns. All whilst Robin explored, dashing out into the bordering bushes, picking at the colourful leaves and flowers that were still in session. Without a care the child scavenged for whatever fancied her interest. Strange rocks, bits of bark and berries, she horded it all in her pockets, believing it would come in use for later. Perhaps she was touched in the head. Being able to find such simple amused in the trinkets of Mother Earth. So lost in her thoughts, she did not register the footsteps quietly creeping closer. Turning to head back to the main path, Robin found her-self confronted.

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She gasped, suddenly stiff with tension, as before her stood Magua, leering down at her, blocking her path back. The Huron's thin bronze lips twitching as he sneered. "Alone again, Little Bird" Magua once more towered over her, his chest puffed out slightly in a display of power. Against Robin's better instincts, feeling confronted, she took a hasty step back, prompting Magua to advance in turn. A sudden spark of playfulness ignited in his otherwise cold black eyes. "If Le Renard Subtil didn't know any better…he think you were looking for trouble".

Robin shook her head in return, like a child cornered by a bully. Staring up at the large man, she could do little else but continue retreating, step by step, in an attempt create some distance. The thick forest obstructed them from view of the others. And Magua seemed to revel in the fact Rob would not call out, should anything happen. His slow growing grin further unsettled her, as it promised a wickedness only a warrior could stand. Impulsively she darted around the Huron, attempting to escape the fox's game before it was too late.

Grunting in disapproval, the Huron's large hands snared her wrists, pulling her back into the shadows of the forest cover. Dropping her scavenged flora pieces, Robin, briefly panicked, struggled against Magua's hold. It only seemed to further amuse him as he simply threw her against a nearby tree. Every time she regained her composure and attempted flee, he would simply push her back. This continued for a short time until finally Magua had enough of his fun. Pinning Rob to the tree with one single hand flat on her chest, Magua debated his next move. The boy was surprisingly amusing, to Magua at least. His songs seemed to keep the red coats in good spirits, mustering morale and otherwise lifting their wary woes. Magua was sure his own warriors would appreciate a chanting song bird of their own. Should the boy somehow survive the massacre that was yet to come, as a captive, he would be worth a fair price. As an entertainer, Magua deduced. The boy hardly seemed fit for hard labour. Months of standard Huron toil would break his back.

_Such a waste_. The sudden thought surprised Magua. Since when did he concern him-self with the wellbeing of a white dog? For all he cared they should be whipped and flogged as he was, poisoned by the fire water they gave him. Yet this boy before him, slowly but securely, was crawling under his skin. In the winds, he heard the boy's songs. In the waters and grass, he saw his eyes. Was he some sort of witch? Magua suddenly tensed. The tomahawk hidden in the sleeve of his stripped tunic became temptingly close. Did this boy bewitch his victims with his songs? Did he sell his voice to some demon or spirit, in return for tricks and witchery? Whilst pondering these thoughts, under Magua's thoughtful yet intense glare, Robin, having abandoned her struggles, stared back. With her doe like eyes, Robin took a chance to further detail the Huron scout. He was an exceedingly tall specimen, with healthy dark copper skin. His hair was in the strangest style she'd ever seen. A majority of it seemed to have been shaved, or rather plucked, clean with only a tuff of his black hair grown out at the crown. With the pony tail there were also braids and trinkets woven in with feathers and beads also featured. It was eccentric, in a way. She wouldn't immediately think he was handsome. He seemed far older than her, his face worn down with age and hardship. His jaw line was strong, and the plains of his face sharp. Definitely a distinguish warrior.

There was a tense silence between the two. Both were mentally sizing up the other. With Magua's hand pressed firmly against her chest, he felt the tension in the muscles begin to tighten, ready for a burst of movement. His dark eyes narrowed in warning, and quickly the pressure he held on her chest increased. It was then a suspiciously looked flashed across his expression. Leaning closer, Magua applied further pressure on Robin's chest, as if testing a thought. She clamped her small hands on his meaty wrist, once more struggling to relieve the pressure. Harshly he whispered, "Be still, child. Magua wants a closer look". He roughly palmed the area of her chest, hushing her swiftly with grunts when she protested. Robin was never more thankful she had bound her chest with extra wrapping. As he grasped at her otherwise flat appearing chest, Magua shot an glance of accusation, to which she rebuffed by looking away. Slowly Magua's free hand drifted to the knife at his belt. When Robin shrieked Magua pressed the blade to her lips threateningly, for silence.

There was a commotion back on the main path, momentarily distracting Magua from his intentions. Gazing back at the main path, through the cover of the trees and bushes, he spotted three strangers had joined the band, and now were coming towards the forest edge. Major Heyward soon called out, "Scout! Where is that Huron Scout?".

Disgruntled Magua suddenly flung him-self back, dashing into the darkness of the forest without so much as a sideways glance. Within a moment of his departure a shot ran out, narrowly missing Robin, who was tucked against the large trunk of the tree. A trio of large figures came rushing towards her. No red coats, or familiar faces. She at first expected the worst, until Gamut's voice follows behind them. Still gasping for air Rob once more was dwarfed by three towering men, clothed only in deer skin breeches, and linen shirts. Bunched against the trunk of the tree, Rob glared suspiciously at the men for a moment, waiting to see if they would attack, as she had first thought. However two of them remained more interested in their surroundings, with rifles poised for actions, while the eldest, a fatherly figure, gestured to Rob. In well spoken English he asked, "Are you hurt boy? Where did the Huron go?"

Rob at first shook her head, in regards to her wellbeing. She then pointed off towards the dark depths of forest, without a word, earning a curiously look from the elder of the trio. "The boy is mute" it was more a statement, than a question. And yet there was a degree of scepticism in his aged voice.

"Rob, these are Mohicans" Gamut began to explain, gesturing to the three men, one at a time, declaring their names with remarkable accuracy. "Chingachgook, Uncas and Hawkeye."

Rob looked at them individually with her large eyes. She noted the one named Hawkeye was clearing of white origins. And yet it did not surprise her. Already there were rumours circulating of white children being abducted and adopted by Indian tribes. And yet there was something even more interesting on his person. She gestured to a familiar hat, hanging from the back of his neck. Hawkeye blinked for a moment before unhooking the hat from around his neck and passing it to the youth before him. "Is this yours, my friend? I found it by the trail"

Robin, in a small act of annoyance, made a gesture familiar to Chingachgook. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he too gestured, using his hands to form a sort of sign language. "You know the language of fingers?"

Robin blinked, taken back at the Mohicans' recognition. Quickly she then replied, feverishly with gestures of her own. Gamut was affectionately surprised. "Rob, I never knew you knew sign language. Clever little imp. You must teach me as well"

"He says, his mother was deaf, and a fur trader, married to a native, taught him to help communicate with his mother, before she died"

Chingachgook smiled when Robin nodded, confirming the interpretation. The group returned to the main path, where Alice and Cora, guarded by Major Heyward and the column of British red coat soldiers, waited in anxious silence. Exasperated Cora beckoned to Mr. Gamut, awkwardly glancing at the Mohicans. "Major Heyward, what in heavens is going on?"

The singing teacher regretfully replied, "It seems we have been led astray by that Huron fiend".

"I knew there was something not quite right with him. There was evil in his eyes, sister. I knew it since the moment I saw him"

Alice anxiously inquired Major Heyward. "What are we to do now? Heavens knows where we truly are"

Pondering for a moment, Heyward deduced, "Keep moving for now. There might be a clearing up ahead. We rest for now and consider our options". The Major warily glanced at the Mohicans. "Will you guide us?" His voice was slow, but calm. They had already been betrayed once, could they trust these redskin devils again. Relief washed over him when Chingachgook, having exchanged a look of contemplation with his sons, finally nodded. "We should head for the caves. With one Huron loose in the forest, there will surely be more". With that they once more moved off, going off the original course, much to the chagrin of the Huron watching from a far.

Instead of the avoiding the Mohicans, like she had done with Magua, Robin slowly became fond of the Indian trio. And it seemed the feeling was mutual. Though she staggered to keep up with their fast set pace, they did little to deter her. Chingachgook even seemed to softly humour her, pointing at various trees and forging animals, even if she did not vocally respond.

In their native tongue Hawkeye and Uncas conversed, watching the pair walking ahead of them. Their wise father, and the strange white girl, disguised as a boy. The English surely must be blind, if their mistook the strange copper hair for a simple boy. "**Father always wanted a daughter**". Uncas smiled fondly at the thought, whilst Hawkeye shook his head. "**Daughters are more troublesome than sons.**". The two chuckled, though it seems their conversation was overhead, as the elder Mohican shouted back. "**The pair of you cause me more than enough trouble. Stop wagging your tongues and scout ahead!**". Caught in the act the brothers, Hawkeye and Uncas moved on, with Chingachgook shaking his head whilst Robin simply grinned, obviously amused.

Taking the opportunity, Chingachgook asked, once more gesturing with his fingers. "Where is your father, girl?". He was not surprised by Robin's shock. Cautiously she looked around, not sure how to respond. '_How did he know...These Indians, their eyes see more than any Englishmen'_. Calmly the Mohican continued, "Do not fret, child. I had my suspicions. Men sign 'I' with their thumb alone. Women use both the thumb and small fifth, pointed to their breast." Robin realised her error and relented, nodding her head. If this Mohican noticed, then surely the others would have as well. Chingachgook continued, this time in low spoken English. "I also suspect…you can speak." He then looked at her expectantly.

Robin was silent for a moment, unsure of what to do. Cautiously, she glanced back; sure she was not within hearing distance of the British party. "Yes. I can speak. And yes, I am a girl". She almost looked ashamed, casting her gaze aside. Chingachgook quietly asked, "Why the secrecy, friend?" Robin's reply was simple as she looked off into the nearby forest surroundings. "Protection". She dismissively shrugged. "Out here, I thought it was safer to be a boy. But with my voice…" She trailed off for her new acquaintance to continue. He would nod in understanding. "Your voice would have betrayed your gender. I understand. But what of your family, your father? They allow this?". Chingachgook then saw the sadness in Robin's teal eyes. Softly, he deduced. "You have no family…" Robin once more nodded in silence. With that their conversation ended. The elder Mohican would nod pry for any more answers. Sometimes the dead were better left bury. He swore to withhold her secret, but cautiously warned, "All secrets must come to light. The longer left the darker the deed". With that he moved on, towards the rocky clearing that came into view. And it seemed just in time. In a few hours, the sun would set, and all creatures of the night would be out to hunt.

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A/N – hoped you liked that. Review the story, not the grammar, remember, more reviews, more chapters !


	3. Chapter 3

A/N – meh, review story, not grammar, other than that – more reviews, more chapters ! p.s. might have mixed up the events a little bit…oh well. Tarot is mentioned in this chapter, honestly don't want to hear people's opinions about it, whether you like it or not, (especially if not) and if some of the details differ from your own experience and knowledge. My story, my rules.

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The caves were meant to protect them. From the cold night and scavenging animals, but not from attack. The Hurons ambushed them at the in the early hours of the morning, when the skies were still barely lit. The unprepared red coats, stationed outside the rocky caverns were outmanoeuvred by the experienced battle seasoned Indians. In few numbers, some slipped passed the sleeping soldiers, and then in a pincer movement, attacked, causing as much chaos and havoc as possible while Magua and his party entered the mouth of the cave, unnoticed. Like an ant hill, he knew the more important morsels were inside, hidden in the many tunnels of the cave. He had too few warriors to truly fight the English dogs, for now, he had to use his cunning, wise use his little time, and snare his prey. The Munroe sisters, Grey Hair's offspring. With the prize within his grasp, Magua willed him-self to keep his wits about him. The English now had the accursed Mohicans trio accompanying them. They were skilled. More likely to throw a thorn in his plans. Clutching the dagger at his side, Magua prepared him-self for the worst. With victory so close at hand, he refused to give up!

The noise of the attack outside no doubt stirred those inside the caverns. Magua dashed inside with his party, soon finding the discarded makeshift fire and camp, now smouldering and abandoned. There were many tunnels in the caverns he could not risk to lose them. Dividing his forces Magua took one tunnel in particular, accompanied by five other warriors. He had caught the glint of fire light in front of him. Rapidly he increased his step until finally he seemed to have cornered his prey.

"Hurry, hurry!" Hawkeye shouted, pushing Alice, Cora, Heyward and Robin ahead of him as he fired his musket back at the encroaching Hurons. Everything happened so fast. One moment Robin was huddled by a warm fire, finally asleep, before being roughly shaken by Hawkeye, told to grab her rucksack and run. They were under attack. Without question Robin snagged her satchel and ran after Heyward of the Munroe sisters. Blindly they ran around twists and turns, aimlessly looking for an escape. They came to a dead end, faced with a wall of crushing water and a 10ft drop into the depths below. The men may survive the fall, but could the women? Already Hawkeye saw the sisters shaking with fear, clutching each other for comfort. He then looked to his brother, and then Chingachgook. They nodded to a conclusion. "Jump!" Uncas shouted, herding everyone closer to the edge of the slight cliff. It was either jump, throwing them-selves to the mercies of the water, or to the feet of the Huron. The choice was clear. Heyward jumped first, hugging Alice to him, while Cora clutched to Uncas. "Now, jump!" Hawkeye shouted as he and Chingachgook jumped, attempting to take Robin with him. But Robin did not move. Her heels dug into the rocky ground, anchoring her small wrist out of the Mohican's grasp before anything could be done. She was frozen with fear. The waters, the darkest of the depth shook her to her core. She had a paralyzing fear of water; ever since she was young she feared that if given the chance, the waters would swallow her up, for good. It was only the shuffling of feet behind her that broke her fear induced trance. Magua and his braves. Before she even thought of jumping once more, one of the Huron's yanked her away from the edge, locking her in his arms as Magua closed in.

"Where are they?" he hissed, his patience having been pushed to madness. Robin merely shook her head, refusing to answer. In anger Magua yelled out a Huron curse and struck her, rendering Robin near unconscious. The last she remembered, she saw him walking away, before she was hauled up over and onto the shoulder of the Huron holding her. Everything went black. The sound of water faded, and the whoops of Huron rang out before dying.

Hours, maybe days passed before Robin woke up, the exhaustion and hunger had got the better of her. Weakly she slowly woke up, barely sitting up before finding her hands bound and tied to a wooden peg, hammered into the hard ground. Blinking for a moment, dazed, she then looked around her, finding she was in some sort of shelter. It was a strange domed dwelling, with arched wooden frames. Layers of tanned pelted covered the whole circumference of the shelter. '_I'm in a tepee? A wigwam?'_ The thought jerked her up once more, but the length of the rope kept her in an awkward position. There was barely anything inside the dwelling with her. A few pots and baskets, nothing she could use for an escape. There was barely any light; she couldn't even find the door. Or see Magua, until he spoke, mockingly. "Little Bird finally stirs. Magua feared your spirit fled".

Robin made an impulsively jerk, unsure as to where he truly was. That was until his rough calloused hands clasped themselves on her shoulders, shaking her into submission. "Do not fight me, child. You will not win". Threateningly, he placed a familiar cool dagger to her cheek, enticing obedience. There was a long silence between them. Robin dare not speak, not with the blade so close to her throat. He could kill her, so easily. The silence however, seemed to irritate him. "Magua is wise to you, Little Bird. Your trickery does not fool the Huron". The tension in her body, under his grasp, confirmed his suspicion. Again, he shook her violently. "Speak!"

Reluctantly defeated, Robin finally muttered, in a low voice. "Where am I?"

Magua seemed pleased with her small response. The pressure of his hold lessened. "Lenape tribe village. Huron allies". – Which meant little chance of escape or rescue.

Finding her lips suddenly dry, she wetted them shyly with her tongue. Again she asked softly, afraid to even ask. "Why am I here?". Was she to be some sort of sacrifice, spoils of war to be put to work? Or perhaps a prisoner of war, saved for bargaining. None seemed to coincide with Magua's mood. Despite the darkness of the wigwam, Robin could feel the slight scowl twisting on the Huron's face before her. "Grey hair's brood might have escaped me, but not you"

She blinked in confusion. "Grey hair?" _Who is Grey hair?_ He did not answer her. Instead her removed the blade from her throat, and with expert precision, served the rope that bound her to the wooden stalk. With her hands still bound he roughly pulled her up to her feet, grunting a simple, "Up" before forcing out of the hidden flap of the wigwam. The bright light of day stunned her eyes, disorientating her with the surrounding blurred colours and loud activity of the vivid village life. Before she even found her feet she was half dragged through the village, onlookers watching with mild interest as if it was a source of entertainment. Staggering to a halt he then threw her down to the dusty dirt floor, intending to keep her down by placing his foot on her captive hands. Huffing in annoyance she took a chance to adjust her vision, and soon found her-self in the heart of a small gathering. Mostly men had gathered, outside a predominantly decorated wigwam, whilst women and children stayed back, curious but still busy with chores.

"What is happening?" she muttered, not intending to be heard. But Magua responded anyway, almost mockingly, "Judgement, you Christians call it"

_I am not Christian_ she grudgingly thought, tempted to cuss him for all the misery he had caused. But in such a public gathering, she decided against it. Her fur trader friend taught her scraps of Indian culture. Above all else, honour and face meant everything, and insults were not taken lightly. Best to keep your 'head down and nose clean', as he used to say. Before a Cherokee brave scalped him from trespassing.

There were murmurs amongst the crowd, which soon silenced once a figure exited the wigwam before her. Robin recognised the figure as the Lenape chief, simply by the impressive garbs he bore. A rich navy blue shawl strung around his shoulders and over his arm with a large well decorated pouch hung around his otherwise thick stocky neck. Adorned with various ornaments made of stone, shell, animal teeth, and claws, his thick black hair hung loose with porcupine quills and leather stripes. He was a well-aged man, leather tanned skin showing the wrinkles planes of his face. Yet he still presented him-self with power, shoulders drone back, with a menacing tomahawk fixed in his right hand, now resting on his left. He actually appeared to have little interest in Robin, whom was literally pinned at his feet, like a sacrificial offering. Instead the Lenape and Huron exchanging looks of familiarity and spoke in a shared tongue.

"**Only one white man? Not even a man, a boy. Has time away from your tribe dulled your skills, Huron fox?" **

Magua rebuffed the remarked with practice skill. "**In time the others will fall, like the mighty moose. Only through endurance and persistence is it then wrestled down by the wolves. I ask of you to watch over this one. His voice shames even the birds. I shall find use for him, when my revenge is sated and I return"**

The chief seemed unimpressed but none the less agreed. **"A mere boy barely seems worth the trouble. But I shall honour your request." **

With the 'pleasantries' apparently completed the Lenape chief seated himself down before his wigwam, conversing with those nearby whilst Magua began ruffling through her satchel, soon emptying the contents out onto the floor. He seemed uninterested in most of the scavenged junk. On the floor laid a spare equally tatty shirt, a broken compass and dented tin cup. Nothing seemed valuable enough take, until Magua's eyes spotted the bright velvet bag, cautiously hidden under the cover the tattered shirt. When he reached for it, Robin lurked forward viciously. "Do not touch those!" desperately, she scrambled to her feet, only to be quickly rebuffed.

"You command me?" Magua angrily glared at her, chided her silently for her outburst. He had half a mind to strike her then, but his curiosity got the better of him. What did the bag hold, and what did it mean to Little Bird? "What is it?" He cautiously fingered the bag open, peeking inside with reserved wariness.

Robin quickly grew quiet, avoiding Magua's inquisitive gaze. "Cards…" she shrugged dismissively, before quickly adding. "But they are mine"

Magua only scoffed dismissively, tipping the cards into his hands, "Mine now, Little Bird". He took a moment to look at them, apparently puzzled. They were strange, unlike any he had seen before. No two images were the same. The bright colours and images were strangely enchanting with untold visual stimulation, as if each card had a tale behind, a tale he wanted to know. Inspecting one card after another he knelt before her, quietly with firm intent, he probed "What sort of cards? These are not the cards of white men"

Again Robin delayed her response, as if uncertain of her own. Warily she glanced between him and the cards in his grasp, only inches away from her. Licking her lips, arrogances suddenly blossomed. "They are tarot. Only mine to read. Anyone who touches them, without my permission, are cursed!"

"Witchery!" Magua suddenly accused, shooting to his feet and casting the offending item aside, much to the exasperation of Robin. The murmurs suddenly grew, the thought of witchery clearly causing a commotion. Even the Lenape chief shot Robin a look of suspicion. Quickly she corrected her outburst. Pleading her case quickly, she grasped at straws. "Are your shaman's witches too? Through those cards, I tell the future. Only the future, nothing more! Is it no different from the visions you seek for guidance? You judge as quickly as white men!"

Her argument seemed to win slight favour. The crowd calmed, but now the air was buzzing with curiosity. Magua's own interest peaked. Leisurely, he knelt before her, glancing at the cards before jutting his chin. "Read them, to me, here and now. Prove your words, child". Robin had no right to refuse.

Gingerly licking her lips, she calmly reasoned, with a gesture of her shoulders. "I cannot read with my hands tied". After a tense moment of silent negotiation Magua relented, untying her bindings. Robin took the chance to inspect her tender wrists, now almost rubbed raw. Magua's impatient grunt allowed her little time to recover. Reluctantly she begrudgingly asked. "What is your question?" When Magua remained silent, she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "The future is vague, if not focused. Ask a question, for me to answer." She made it sound so simple. But tarot was no simple matter. It was an ancient art of divination, passed down through generations, and always followed with persecution. In whispers fortunes were read. Kings, were promised their crowns, and men, foretold their deaths. Robin's grandmother was an adapt fortune teller, her sight so profound, her name was legendary. Though now long since dead, her legacy rested on Robin's young shoulders. And so far she was doing _swimmingly…_ A runaway orphan, stuck in a god forsaken worn torn land, not a prisoner to natives. Fate had the most twisted sense of humour, for those it rarely smiled upon.

Brought out of her thoughts Robin vaguely registered Magua's dismissive shrugged. "The moose hunt. Will the hunt be bountiful?". He chose his question carefully. Magua still had his suspicions. He had to be cautious. He watched as she, with moderate skill, shuffled the cards, muttering to her a small chant of some kind. He barely heard her whispers. "The past. The present. The future"

Disruptively Magua chided. "Magua does not ask for what he already knows. Only the future"

With equal stubbornness Robin countered with a final shuffle, "The future cannot exist without the past. If you wish me to read the cards, then I must read them right". That seemed to silence him, for now. With a gesture she proceeded, splitting her deck of 78 cards into three piles, and taking one card off each stake, laying out for Magua, and those crowding round, to see. The Three of Pentacles, The Wheel of Fortune, upside down, and finally The Sun. Staring intently at the cards, Robin finally spoke, the air of her voice, carrying a degree of strange authority, of which Magua had not expected. "Hunts have been plentiful in the past, but now, the moose are few. There will be a harsh winter coming…" Her teal eyes almost grew dazed with intensity.

Magua impatiently pressed for details, yet he could not deny his inner interest. "Where are the moose?" What she had said had been true. But was it all simple luck, vague guesses? He couldn't decide. Not yet.

After a long silence, she finally answered, tearing her gaze up to meet his. "The mountains. Follow the main river, not the streams. They have gone to higher ground for better feeding, before snow comes and settles. Summer will end quickly this year, much quicker than before" she took a steady breath, preparing to deliver the unfavourable news, "The hunt will not be plentiful. Best try another day, when the sun is high and it is still warm out for the moose to wander. You would be better off hunting small game. The deer are still in season". She recalled Chingachgook brief mention of the dwindling deer. '_Best hunt now, whilst they are plenty and pleasant'_. Alone, in the enemy camp, Robin couldn't help but miss the elder Mohican. She wondered where he was now, with his mismatched pair of sons, Major Heyward and the sisters. She hoped they were doing better than her-self. But it seemed fate gave her a small smile of favour. Despite the unfavourable news, a whisper of excited chatter erupted from the gathered masses of the village, though it was soon silenced by Magua's suspicious accusation. "How does Magua know this is no trick? Lead the Huron party astray so you can flee?"

Now it was Robin who dismissively shrugged, collecting her cards to reshuffle and pack away. "Even if your party leaves, I am outnumbered, in unfamiliar lands. The odds are not in my favour", affectionately patting her cards in the velvet bag, she once more muttered. "I am also honour bound by the cards"

With this Magua erupted into laughter, dismissing the seriousness of her tone. "What does a white dog know about honour?"

Robin quickly retorted without thought. "More than you!"

"Watch your tongue, witch, or I will relieve you of it" he coolly rebuffed her, though there was a warning in his eyes. He would not be so forgiving if she continued. They were still in public; he could easily flog her for insulting him. Here she was minority.

Robin quickly explained, reciting the words her grandmother had often recounted to her in her youth. "When taught the art of reading, we vow to always speak the truth. Whatever the cards tell us, we must convey. We are honour bound, to speak the future to those who seek it. If you believe I lie, then my life is yours for payment"

Magua stared down at her, a game of wills in silent play. Kneeling before her once more, knife drawn and pointing under her chin, he whispered with unfamiliar anticipation. "By sundown, I will return. We shall see if your words prove true". With that he grunted in Huron to his underlings, ushering her back to the wigwam, once she had scrambled to collect the rest of her discarded knickknacks. Robin would not see Magua again until later that night.

She was still sleep when Magua entered unannounced. He had half a mind to kick the lazy the child awake for acknowledgement. Instead he settled on the ground nearby, and simply opted to swat her over the head. She jerked awake rather comically to him, drowsily rubbing the sleep from her eyes, before spotting the glint of knife on the floor. Without thought, she asked, "Have you come to kill me?"

Despite the poor light, coming through the open flap of the wigwam, she could still feel the uncharacteristic smile in his voice. "You have proved your worth. No moose tonight. But rabbit and deer good enough. The chief is pleased. We eat tonight at least". Magua roughly pulled her up to sit, having already made him-self comfortable, knife and bowl in hand. "Eat" He stabbed the knife in the broth, by luck spearing a fair size chunk of what she assumed was meat. Deer, she hoped.

Robin cautiously eyed the bowl of meaty stew, certain of both the taste and intentions behind it. Was the meat rotten, did he wish to sicken her? Or perhaps poison, to test her resilience. Despite her hunger, she refuses, shaking her head sheepishly before drawing back. Magua started hard at her, once more offering the chunk of meat off the tip of the blade. "Eat or starve", he almost waved it at her, allowing the aroma to finally hit her nostrils. Victory flashed across his eyes when finally Robin conceded. He fed her like a child, offering the pieces of meat by knife point, before tipping the rest of the mushy broth down her throat. He lacked care and moderation. Robin almost choked numerously from his forcful feeding method, all whilst he muttered how distastefully thin she was. "Only skin and bones. Nothing even for the crows to feed" He clumsily wipes the meaty juice from her jaw, before nonchalantly licking it clean in his mouth. Robin unconsciously shivered. It certainly wouldn't be considered proper civilized etiquette, but then again, she was in a different world now. One where she seemed to be the savage, bound and tied to the Huron as his prisoner. The curiosity of her predicament maddened her. Her fate was in his calloused hardened hands.

Sitting up, as comfortable as she could go, with her hands and feet bound, she asked what little nerve she had left to spare. "What are you going to do with me?" Since they had finished eating, there had been silence. For once it was Robin who was annoyed by this. She could only watch Magua sit before, sharpening his tomahawk by feel alone, as if she wasn't even there, worthy of his attention. With one last assertive slide of flint, Magua looked up, contemplating for a moment before cynically smiling, much to Robin's wariness.

"You truly wish to know?" Hesitantly, Robin nodded, slightly scurrying back when he advanced on his hands and knees. Effortlessly he cut her wrist restrained from her back, but still held them in one of his massive hands. He seemed to inspect the dainty fingers of her hands as he spoke, with a most surprisingly philosophical tone. "Magua can't decide. Scalp you first or torture" He further sneered as Robin's face returned to horror. As he expected she tried to move back, yanking to free her wrists from his clamp like grasp. "Maybe start with these pretty fingers? Take each one into my mouth, and bite them off, piece by piece" He did so, opening his mouth menacing whilst his gaze held Robin's.

Defiantly, Robin grasped for straws, blurting out the first thought that came to mind. Even if it was a lie. "I am not afraid of you"

Narrowing his eyes, Magua unkindly tested, "You should be". There was a tense moment of silence, before he suddenly lunged, tackling her to the ground. Like a wild cat Robin hissed and thrashed, trying to free her-self from the beast on top of her, now tearing at her mucky thin linen shirt. "Stop! No!" she thought for sure people outside heard the commotion, but none would come to investigate. What happened in one's wigwam was their own business. Through her copper locks Robin froze to see Magua raise the knife to her chest. It was then she saw what he was aiming for. Her shirt ripped open, only the bindings covering her breasts showed. The look of Magua's face seemed to have confirmed his own thoughts. With Robin finally still he slowly sliced half way down the section of wrapping until finally, as plain as day the valley of her breasts were visible. Robin feared he may very well cut through the whole of the wrapping, and expose her-self to him, but he did not make another move. Instead, he muttered lowly, "As Magua thought… a maiden, hidden as a brave." An amused grin spread across his otherwise taunt and hard features. His suspicions in the forests were true. The white boy, was in fact a white girl. He almost chided him-self for not recognising it sooner. Quickly recomposing him-self Magua sternly stated, "You are Magua's captive. You will dress as such"

Blushing unknowingly, Robin rebelliously bucked in an attempt to dislodge the large man off of her. "You can't do this to me!" she hated being told what to do, and like a temperamental child, Robin was prepared to shout, kick, and scream until her lungs gave out, before she submitted to another's demands.

The Huron quickly saw the challenging growing within her, and soon sought to put a stop to it. "Magua will do as he pleases, and you would do well to remember that!" Pulling her to her knees he shook her into submission until she quietened, before once more casting her aside to fall. "A squaw will come with clothes. Change, or Magua will send his Huron braves in to help you". No sooner had the words left his mouth did he regret them. The idea sparked a cramp of discomfort in his gut.

"You're bluffing" Robin suddenly accused, so assure of herself. She shot him a smirk of cheeky delight, as if she held a trick he didn't know about. "I read your tarot" she said simply, as if it was meant to mean something of importance. Before a brave entered the wigwam to once more tie her hands, Robin made what little use of her time she could. Her cards of her own future were vague and contradicting, but Magua was as plain as a picture book. "You are a marked man…scarred and tormented by life. As cold as stone and as deadly as the tomahawk you carry. You take what you think is yours, regardless of any obstacle. Like a fox, you protect mere scraps, simply because it's yours by right, and you refuse to share. I may be a lowly captive, but for now, I am your captive. You may not admit it, but it's true. You would rather force your own hand on me, then daring to let another do" she spoke with such uncharacteristic confidence, that even Magua was left speechless. For some reason the fact gave her some sense of assurance, heavens' know why. Taking courage from that, she once more challenged him, jutting her dimpled chin at him. "Tell me I'm wrong…"

After a moment of silence the Huron lashed out, clamping his grasp on Robin's jaw. He forced her to meet his eyes. Now daring her not to look away. "Do not tempt me with words you do not understand." His voice was below of whisper, but the intensity of the words still stung like an open flesh wound. "Make no mistake, Little Bird, you are Magua's captive. Your life belongs to Magua alone. A slave, a sister, a wife. Magua will say what you are to do. And now, child…Magua says change!"

With that the Huron left, viciously slapping the flap of the wigwam shut, not leaving her even a second to reply. _A slave…a sister…a wife?_ Did she even have those options? Despite Magua stubborn assurance of keeping her alive, Robin got an unconscious feeling that her days were soon to be numbered. An uncomfortable feeling she was already aquatinted with.

A squaw soon came with a simple set of clothes, no sooner had she offered them to Robin, did she then turn and leave, lacing up the flap once more, leaving Robin to dress in the dark. At some point during the night, when she restlessly slept, someone –she assumed Magua – had entered the wigwam, and had taken her discarded scrap clothes. All she could remember whilst falling asleep was the distinctive smell of fire and smoke kindling nearby. They had burned her clothes.

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A/N – chapter 3 ! hoped you like it, review and rate !


	4. Chapter 4

a/n – sorry for the lateness, this one was a big one. As usual, rate the chapter, story, not the spelling or grammar XD as keep whatever political, historical, ethnic issues opinions you have to your-self! Enjoy ! chapter 4 ! -

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Magua had left in such anger the previous night; he had foolishly left behind the blade used to feed Robin. She couldn't believe her luck. Her words of insight surely must have spooked him; otherwise he wouldn't have been so careless. Or maybe…it was trick, a test to see what she would do with it. Would she use it on him, next time he came? Perhaps leave it untouched as sign of submission. Neither seemed like the best choice. One surely meant death, the other a life of slavery. With most options exhausted, only one path remained. Escape. All odds screamed against it, and yet Robin's unruly nature flared at the thought.

'_Better to die free, then live as a slave'_ It was the last thing her grandmother had said her, before they took her away to the gallows. Escape seemed liked the most rational answer, even if it truly wasn't. But she had to at least try, better than sitting in the dark, day by day, counting down the hours until her captor finally grew too bored to keep her. It would only be a matter of time till Magua came to reclaim the knife. Minutes, seconds, he could be walking towards the wigwam now as she thought rapidly!

Why did she feel so feverish? Was it fear? She felt as if her skin was on fire, and yet she shivered. Had sickness taken her? Her vision blurred and double, she could barely sit let alone stand steadily on her own accord. And yet escape still seemed possible. Her hands still free, took the knife shakily, and slowly, as silent as possible, inched and jabbed through the bottom of the wigwam leather, vertically, so it could not be so easily spotted. The nearby pots, aligned up beside the wall would cover it enough, should anyone come. Which they did. Heavy feet stumbled towards her wigwam. Quickly robin placed the knife aside and faux sleep. It was Magua, but not as she had seen him before. He too seemed to stagger, but not from sickness. From the rancid odour on his breath she smelt alcohol; it laced the air so thickly Robin's stomach almost turned. Magua seemed tipsy, but still vaguely alert, as one might expect. It seemed Robin's hunch was right; he had come for the knife, delighted that to find it where he had expected, not hidden on her person.

"Smart, little bird. You are learning" he groggily praised, roughly palming her hair as if she was some prized bitch. He senses seemed dull, enough to not sense she wasn't truly asleep. Through the slit of her eye lids, she watched him, apprehensively. Men were unpredictable at times but more or less creatures of habit, when sober. Drunkards were not. Yet he seemed fairly content, taking a seat and watching her with glassy narrowed eyes. "Magua swore never drink firewater again." He mumbled, as if confessing to her in confidence. "Rots the mind, soils the spirit…but warms the belly. And eases the pain" he trailed off, his mind drifting elsewhere, just as Robin peeked opened one of eyes, the uncommon lapse of emotion in his voice made her curious. Her thundering heart faltered. He sat there, still as stone, the light of the moon on his conflicted face. The jagged sharp planes of his face, taunt with ridged tension, whilst his eyes half lidded and heavy. His jaw clenched and unclenched, almost ritualistically, whilst the rest of his body was numbingly still.

"What Magua do with you, Little Bird?" the question seemed to perplex him. She spied him, waving the knife sluggishly while he thought. Anxiously she listened as he continued. "Maybe Magua trade you. Get good hides for white children. But Magua could just kill you. Little Bird light many fires in men's hearts. But Magua's heart must stay cold." His hands were soon on her, dragged her up roughly to sit beside him, purposely stirring her from her 'sleep'. She heard him drunkenly mutter as he fidgeted around with her wrists. "Maybe Magua keep you alive, for a little longer" He clumsily tied her wrists once more, tightly constricting the circulation. The angle was awkward, bound behind her back, one arm twisted adjacent to the other, but he took no notice. Wrenching her to his side, he softly spoke, resting her head on shoulder, forcefully. "Sing, Little Bird. Entertain Magua".

Robin was so stunned by the situation, he barked at her, "Sing!"

Licking her lips, Robin shakily started, with whatever song came to mind. Not her personal favourite, but it seemed fitting. "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found, was blind but now I see…"

She stilled for a moment, listening quietly. His chest was raising steadily, his breath even as his eyes fluttered closed. She waited for a moment, until it seemed he was well and truly asleep in his drunken state. His body was lucid, only supported by the wall of the wigwam. With cat like, adrenaline stealth Robin pried her-self from Magua's grasp, inching ever so slowly away until finally she slipped through the escape flap. Unconsciously she took a moment to stare at her drunken captor, who now himself was a captive of his own vices. She was taken by the lapse of character. Her grandmother was right. Men were victims of their own demons. "You poor creature…" she mumbled softly, before finally slipping out of the wigwam, darting for the cover of the forest nearby. It was pitch black, the Lenape camp silent. Only a few braves walked the night, patrolling most likely, watchful of any attack. Once Robin crept deep into the forest, she bolted to life, running through the darkness, struggling to free her hands as she did so. She had to get as far away as possible, before her escape was discovered.

Apparently, it did not go undiscovered as long as she had hoped. After half an hour of running, she heard him, bellowing in rage. "Little Bird! You witch!"

He already seemed close. His battle ready body fit to cover twice as much ground as her, in half as much time. Robin could already picture the anger raging in his eyes. Swallowing her fear, and her exhaustion, she ran again, blindly through the trees, looking for an opening out of the forest. It would be light soon, easier for them to spot her. She had to find cover. The thundering chorus of the footsteps were growing closer. What did they do to captives who tried to escape?

"When Magua gets his hands on you, you will beg for mercy!"

She didn't want to find out. She kept running, having finally broken her restraints through constantly wrist rubbing. Blood ran from her wrists and speckled the ground, but now she could run better, even if her legs were already tiring from exhaustion. She broke through the tree line, expecting open fields of long grass to bushes to hide in. she was dead wrong. The thundering cascades of water drummed down on the rocks below. She had run her-self right towards a waterfall, with devastating cliffs on either side. Her back almost broke in defeat, but the nearby hollering of her pursuers drove her to desperation. She clambered up the rocks, briefly contemplating trending through the waters to reach the other side. There was no chance in the hell. The waters with dark with unknown depths, jagged rocks lined the banks and the rapids thundered over the falls, promising death if anything should followed. It was literally a dead end.

"Little Bird…"

The growl invoked a yelp of fear from Robin as she clambered further to the edge. Magua had indeed followed, and now had her cornered, with his Huron party hanging back, but none the less nearby. He looked feral; the shame of having his captive fled wand the flames of his rage. He looked ready to drag her back by her hair. He said nothing, but merely extended his reach, grasping at her bleeding wrists. The sight momentarily halted him, but only for a second. That was all she needed.

"One more step Huron, and I jump", despite her wariness, her voice never sounded so stern.

His gaze reverted to her footing. One step and she would be over the edge of the waterfall, lost to the thundering torrents of the water below. Jagged rocks would surely break her slender body into bits. Biting back his rage, Magua calmed his tone, offering his hand in appeal. "Do not be foolish, Little Bird…Magua knows you should not die today" the sweetest in his tone could sicken any.

"But Magua will decide, regardless?" she mocked his speech slightly. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins. This was the final confrontation. Win or lose, this was the end. At least that's what it felt it. Robin's heart was in her throat. She had only given her-self two options. Jump, or surrender. Neither outcome promised life.

Magua responded automatically, clenching his fist in power. "Is Magua's right! Magua captured you. Magua keeps you. Magua decides when he is done with you!" temporarily his control slipped, causing him to curse as Robin daggled one foot over the edge. Quickly he recomposed him-self. How embarrassing. To submit to his captive's demands. He was going to throttle her. His eyes blazing, promised that much. "Surrender, Little Bird, and Magua will forgive this foolish flight."

_Liar... _Robin thought bitterly.

Robin was shaking, the adrenaline was wearing off. She had to decide, do, or die. Or in this case, it meant both. Tauntingly, she cocked her head aside. "Ask your-self. If you were me, on the edge, faced down by the enemy…what would you do?"

He knew the answer, they both knew and it spurred him to lunge. The foolish girl really meant to jump, taken by a moment of madness. If Magua was facing a brave, he would have found it admirable, but for Robin to do so, it enraged him to no end. Despite his skill, his years and experience, she slipped away, merely leaning back to avoid his grasp. Everything slowed to a stop. Every fibre of Magua's being tensed in that one moment. He knew he had lost her. The bitter taste of defeat and failed stung his tongue. The sight of Robin's large fearful, yet determined eyes, staring at him as she fell, shook his core on an uncomprehendable level. As slow as it seemed to have happened, it was over just as fast. Her small form, dwarfed by the sheer magnitude of the falls, disappeared into the water, long before she could hit rocks. The Huron braves clambered to the edge, peering to sight her, and muttering in shock at the crazy white girl who had flung her-self over, to escape capture. They seemed certain she was dead. The pressure of the waters would certainly crush her wallflower like body. And if the rapids didn't crush her, the rocks and floating debris would. Branches, trees, rocks all floated down river, uprooted by recent rainstorms. All they wanted for now, was s body to resurface, blood to stain the murky water. But there wasn't any, not for some time. The Hurons had begun to turn back, when the heavens opened and water rained down upon them. Magua chest was heavy, his besotted gaze surveying the waters bellows almost silently willing them to return what was his. His cry of anguish defeat bellowed into rage. Against all odds the whelp resurfaced, coughing and gasping for air below, clutching onto a nearby piece of driftwood to keep her body up. Magua had half a mind to dive in after her…just so he could drag her out of the waters, to kill her him-self. As she travelled with the current, she grew smaller, the distance between them growing, though Magua's voice spanned far.

"You will not escape me, Little Bird! I will find you! And when I do, you will regret the day you ran from me!" His voice echoed throughout the forests, but for once, the Huron could do little else but watch in defeat as his captive floated down river, further and further out of reach.

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1740 -

Robin always hated water. It was often cold and wet, murky and lurking with unknown dangers. Since the day she was born in water, she hated it. Following tradition's Robin had a water birth, away from the camp. She had caused her mother such distress, coming a month earlier than expected. Yet as her mother fretted and worried, Grandmother Willow sat at the water bed, chuckling, easing her worries with comforting gestures of the hand, "She is just eager to see the new world, dear Summer. You your-self came than expected"

It was tradition amongst the clan, to have multiple names. Only a mother knows the true birth name of her child, and never would she utter it, until death, out of fear ill spirits would come and claim that child, while still vulnerable and pure. Instead generic names were given, nicknames of character and features. Grandmother Willow was aged and now wilting, with hair as white as snow framing her gently withered features. She was the wise woman of the clan, and if not for her own daughter's impairment, would have surely taught her the ways of wisdom. Silently, she hoped Summer's daughter would be healthy. More so, she was certain it was going to be a girl. The omens were all there. Summer had craved sweet confectionaries during her pregnancy, she had slept on her right side more than her left and finally, the last conformation Willow needed, were the birds which had now gathered. In the trees nearby sat three magpies, chattering away as content as they could be, despite the pains of labour the soon to be mother was going through. The rule of thumb was, one for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl and four for a boy. And old wives tale Willow was sure to pass on to her new granddaughter. Anxious she already pondered on names for the child. They had to cautious though. Names had power behind them. They could not give her name of a dead relative, in case the child too would die. Another fear was a stranger knowing the child's true. If anyone, outside the family knew one's true name, easily they could enslave your soul and bind you to them, for all eternity. Such a fate was shameful and depressing. Luckily there had not be a case such as that for many years. The isolated clan remained safe in the well secluded forest cover. Gypsies travelled with the wind, constantly moving to find better ground and avoid any confrontation. Willow heard the rumours of tensions already rising between neighbouring natives and the invading white men. Her clan had picked a sore time to venture to the new world. But now they were here, they could do little else but make due and stay alive. If anything Willow feared the persecution of the whites, more than the suspicions of the natives. At least they had more open minds to their way of life. Her clan were the famous 'scavengers'. Always travelling, taking a piece something with them when they left. Cultural practices were especially adaptable. But not even adopted customs could save them from the growing wrath of the war. They would soon pack up camp and move on.

All they had to do now, was wait. She may be early, but it seemed her new granddaughter was either too stubborn to leave the warmth of her mother's womb, or simply too troublesome to leave when expected, making them wait. The birthing was always a private matter. Only close, female relatives helped with the birth. The men stayed back, in camp, away from all the excitement. And would avoid the new mother and child until it was certain there was no underling threat of death or disease. Summer had her equally aged aunt, and elder cousin there to help her, supporting her as she stood waist deep in the water, waiting for the time to come. Summer's laboured groans grew, the time was close. Wading into the water Willow waited, her hands cupped under the water to retrieve the beloved babe. The natural water would cleanse the baby, and hopefully, startle air into her new lungs. The birth was a beautiful as it was painful. The cycle of nature. Summer was left exhausted, supported in the arms of her of relatives, but none the less proud, gasping for air as she stared lovely at her baby. Indeed she had given birth a baby girl, a healthy pale pink baby girl, who wailed and cried like nobody's business. It was a good sign. Willow paddled to shore cradling the new born in her arms. Wrapping her new granddaughter in the thickest blanket she could spare, she soon became aware they were not as alone as they thought.

On the far side of the lake sat Manoj, the medicine man of the near Mohawk tribe, and one of Willow's close friends. He was a kindred spirit, a character of refreshing quality. Had it been any other, Willow would have flown into a fit of rage. But Manoj was different, he too lived by the law of nature, and he had known to keep his distance until the birthing was complete. While Summer was helped to the water bed to rest, Willow began to walk over to her friend, eager to show off her new noisy granddaughter. The child certainly had a fine pair of lungs on her. It took all of Willow's cooing to sooth her crying. Manoj had walked to meet them, smiling at the small bundle in Willow's arms.

Manoj softly gestured to the child, caressing a finger over the child's plump pale cheeks. "She is so small"

"Her mouth is not, she screams like banshee" Willow softly shook her head, only just born and her granddaughter had already given her a headache.

They both chuckled heartily, and settled down once more to speak. Gently she handed the baby girl over for Manoj to hold, certain he meant her no harm. It was then she noticed the few braves which had hidden them-selves amongst the forest border, no doubt having accompanied their beloved healer on his journey. They had turned their backs to the birth but now were curiously stealing glances as the new born. Some seemed warmed by the new born's presence, others seemed less than interested. Manoj was bewitched by the child in his lap, so full of life. And such vibrant eyes, now peeking open to gaze at him. Such innocence. They were mystifying. He could see this child growing into powerful medicine. Just like her grandmother.

Willow broke the silence, staring out at the lake, with the sun now high up in midday, "I am certain you did not come all this way to greet my new granddaughter. Speak your mind Manoj, my friend"

Manoj nodded, forgetful of his friend's intuition. Only she could ever sense his troubles. "There are growing troubles. The white man continues to plague these lands. Other tribes are growing angry with their presence". It was frightening situation. Tribes were pitted against each other, joining either the English or French, with promises of rewards and riches. Those who stayed neutral, were caught in the cross fire.

Willow regretfully nodded, pondering their options. "I though as much…these are not good times"

"We can no longer offer your clan protection" his disappointment was evident. But Willow placed her hand on his shoulder, comfortingly smiling. "Your tribe has done more than enough, my friend. I only wished we could have repaid your kindness better. But do not worry yourself. The winds are changing, now that troublesome granddaughter has been born, we may travel"

Manoj could only offer his best wishes. "May the spirits protect you, and your little one"

Willow softly patted her granddaughter's head. "She will be strong like her father, beautiful like her mother, and wise like her grandmother". Willow had many hopes and dreams for her granddaughter. She was looking forward to seeing her grow. To teaching her the old ways of which her people have lived for generations.

"Wise like a fox!" they erupted in laughter.

Once they quietened, Manoj sighed, staring down at the child as she grasped at his large copper brown finger. "If your people came instead of the white man, life would have be good"

"Would have. Could have. Didn't." Willow shrugged. There was use dwelling on the past. What could have been done. "We are all one people, Manoj. Only our paths are divided. Greed, laziness and hate have clouded their eyes to the other paths. But so easily we too could be blinded. Are we not also white, my granddaughter and I? Could we not one day also become enemies?"

The old warrior in Manoj surfaced. "For your sake, I pray not" Willow understood, like any, their loyalty is to their people first. She respected that.

There was silence between them. It was grim topic to discuss while the new born wiggled and chimed in Manoj's lap. He softly fingered the small red tuff of hair on her little head. Pausing for a moment, He wondered aloud, "Why is she not with her mother?"

Willow waved her hand dismissively, seeing that her daughter and relatives had gone, back to the seclusion of the wagon to rest and recover. The isolation period was often the time of most anxiety. It was when the mother and child were most vulnerable. "Clan custom. Mother and child must be kept apart for small time. If one dies, we fear the other will surely follow. When all is good, they are reunited"

Manoj nodded in understanding and took a small amulet from his neck, tying the red cord loosely around the baby's neck. "Blessed tooth of brother wolf. Will protect her like his own pup" The moment of serene seriousness passed as the pair watched the small girl curiously finger the tooth with her small dainty digits. She giggled, before proceeding to suck on the strange item, earning a slightly chuckled from the aged Mohawk.

"She still needs a name" Willow smiled. It was first on her list as a new grandmother, right before spoiling the child silly with kisses and affection.

"Indeed she does. But what name to give such a strange child" Manoj pondered, beginning to slowly rock the child on his knee for her amusement.

They ran through a list, whatever came to mind, or from whatever they saw. Names were chosen carefully, for it was believed the child would live up to whatever name they were given. It was a lesson Willow planned to teacher her granddaughter carefully. Names held power, over the heart, the mind and the soul, and should never be taken lightly. Hence why it was considered rude in her clan to ask for a person's name. Instead, in time they would give you whatever name they preferred to be called. One man in the clan went by many names, because he knew so many people.

"Vixen, maybe?" Manoj queried, gesturing to a nearby precarious red fox, lapping at the water's edge. Willow quickly chased away the thought.

"Wise woman must be woman of wisdom, not temptation. No granddaughter of mine will be a fancy flirt" Manoj chuckled and continued to ponder. They took their time. After all, this most likely would be their last time together. The Mohawk village was far, and by morning, Willow's clan would be gone.

They would have remained for there for some time, before the giggles and squeals of the baby caught their attention. The baby's arms stretched upwards, grasping at the air. They looked up to see what had her innocent interest. In the trees above them sat a small cluster of red breasted robins, chirping away merrily in peaceful joy. Willow and Manoj then looked at each other.

"She is small…red hair like the robin's breast. Their eggs blue like her eyes." Almost poetically the Mohawk listed.

Pondering for a moment, Willow nodded, taking the newly christened robin into her arms. "Then that is her name. Robin. A good humble name"

With slightly reluctance Manoj rose. "It grows late. We must return to our people"

"I hope, my friend, we meet again"

"As do I. I hope one day to see this little robin grown" Manoj took one last look at small bundle in Willow's arms, gently patting the girl's head with fond affections.

The two friends parted ways, the gypsy wise woman carrying her baby granddaughter, and the Mohican medicine man, accompanied by his braves. Little did either know, that would be the last time they ever saw each other again.

Things did not get better for the gypsy tribe as they hoped. The constant fighting made them enemies on both sides. Nowhere could they find peace, make camp and live their life. Hostilities came more from the white man, their resentment to the gypsy people having festered since the dawn of time. They were an eyesore. They saw gypsies as fellow 'whites' who did not act as they did. By that logic they were social outcasts, somehow inferior to those who raged pointless wars and stole from those innocent. When they were not raiding against natives, the gypsy camps were periodically attacked, people killed and what little treasures they had, looted. The men were taken and drafted into the armies, sentence to die in a war that was never their own. Women and children, were lost and separated, left defenceless and without a home. And those who resisted were killed. They branded Grandmother Willow a witch. Without a trial, she was hanged. And yet, in the face of death, she smiled, knowing her knowledge and linage were now passed on and safe. Her family had adapted and hidden them-selves away in a white community settlement. Ready to leave when the time was right. When once more her people rose from the ashes of destruction. They always did, and every time, they would come back stronger. In the next life, their suffering would be rewarded. It was the only hope they could cling to, while the wounds of the past healed.

Robin's father, a good and simple man, had grown accustomed to the life of white farmer. That was until soldiers dragged him away in the middle of the night, as every other able man in the community was. They called it national serivce. The soldiers said it was an honour, to fight and die for your country. Not that it even was...Robin remembered the bitter tears her mother swept every night, until final the letter came, their beloved husband and father had been killed in action. 'He died a man, with a rifle in his hand'. That was the only solace the messenger gave them, before turning on his heels to deliver the other fourteen letters in his hand. Everyone wept that night. And it was only a matter of time until Summer succumbed to her sorrow, withering away in sickness. There was some kind of epidemic. Robin remembered many had died, and those who survived now intended to move else where. Abandon the fort and the dead to try and make a new life somewhere else. It was the only other option. There was no one to care for Robin; she was an orphan, another mouth to feed for whatever family took her in. Life was hard, stealing scraps to survive. She soon learned life was kinder to boys. A strange struggling mountain man had once snatched her away from the convoy to sell to the Seneca. At the time, they seemed interested enough, the commodity of a white girl in their camp, until they saw the wolf tooth hanging from her neck. They suddenly turned on the mountain man, killing him, and setting her free without so much as an explanation, not that she stayed long enough to ask. Since then Robin had dressed as a boy, cropping her hair and binding her chest, which grew harder over time. The bindings always left bruises. Sometimes it made it even hard to breathe.

* * *

_Like now….stupid binding… No…_

She wasn't wearing binding anymore. The Huron cut it from her. So why was it hard to breathe?

She gasped, coughing profusely. There was pain in her chest. A blinding, searing, throbbing pain. She was cold, soaking wet, and soon shivering. She remembered now. She had jumped over the waterfall. The rapids had slammed into her. She almost went under. It was getting so dark, the fingers numb, reaching for the surface until they finally grasped a drifting log. Vaguely in the distance she had heard Magua's cries of anger, promises of vengeance fading into black as she fell unconscious on the log, drifting down the river. Now she found her-self barely away, run aground by the water bedk, still clutching onto the log for dear life. It hurt to move. No doubt she had at least fractured a rib or two. Her hands badly cut and splintered from the wood, her arms and, no doubt rest of her body, bruised from the fall. She felt weak, her head pounding madly, she didn't even notice the blood as it dripped and merged with her hair. In that brief moment, she closed her eyes, waiting to die. It seemed so easy to just slip away, and sleep forever, drifting back into the water she hated so much.

Except there was an annoying poking sensation, jagging into her arm. Was some animal scavenging her soon to be dead corpse? How fitting. There was another sharp jab.

"Ow!" robin swatted blindly at the source, peeping out of one eye, surprised to find a copper skinned child there, holding a stick ever so innocently, as he looked at her, with big round doe like eyes. He was clearly a native, dressed in a little breechcloth, and moccasins, beaded with small colourful patterns, no doubt crafted for him by an affectionate mother. Robin must have drifted close to a village. Just her luck. She couldn't tell what tribe, from the look of the boy alone, nor did she have the strength to ask. She was just feeling tired, too tired to fight off anymore of the boy's inquisitive poking. Her head dropped down against, and the sound of little footsteps faded. It seemed he had run off. Soon came more sounds, chattering, heavy footsteps. Someone, with a large hand on her head, shook her softly, enticing Robin to look up again. A very aged face of wisdom greeted her. Another native man, with hair grey and white and leathery rich skin peered down at her, his eyes squinting as if to focus his vision. He was old, perhaps his vision wasn't to best, but his English was.

"I am Manoj, of the Mohawk clan. You are safe here. We will help you" He spoke with such kindness. It was comforting.

Robin's breath wheezed as she tried to speak. Her throat was raw; she must have ingested some of the water, as when she tried to speak she coughed out small portions of it.

"Ro…Rob…in…" she managed to mumble. If she could not thank them for their efforts, at least they could know her name before she died. "My…name…is….Ro-bin". She did not stay awake long enough to see the elder's surprise.

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a/n – taadaa ! hoped you liked it ! so intense ! stay tuned ! rate and review !


	5. Chapter 5

A/n – chapter 5 ! amazing ! Never stayed this interested in a story before ! thank you reviewers but I need more ! if anyone has any suggestions, I am open to hear them. Should Robin and Magua be together !? or…is there another contestant, in this mad game of life !? Also I realise my plot has gone the wrong way…oh well, my story !

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Days had passed since Robin had washed ashore. Manoj had relentlessly tended to her, with the aid of a matron, dressing Robin's wounds, easing her bruised pains and battered body. Manoj silently feared the worst. Questions plagued him insentiently. What was she doing so far in Mohawk territory? Had she been attacked? By who? Why was she dressed in buckskin? Had she been taken captive and adopted by a neighbouring tribe? Had she tried to escape, and failed? He could only speculate. He had no doubt this young woman was Willow's granddaughter. Their bore the same name, the same egg shell blue eyes. Surely iy was no coincidence. But until Robin her-self woke up, her misbegotten origins were subject to scandalous gossip. Children still came to see the strange white girl, fished from the river. She had been in the water for some time. Any longer and she would have surely been lost. But there was good medicine in the air. Just as Manoj feared her spirit would never return to her body, she stirred, groaning in obvious pain. It was a good sign. She was now responsive. All she needed now was a hot meal. Warm her body again, before death crept back in to claim her. She was so cold when he first held her. Cradling her in his arms, mere moments after birth only to then hold her once more as she danced at death's door. The Great Spirit has never been so cruel.

Edging closer to the sleeping mat Manoj watched over her, a hot brew of meaty stew ready in hand. Robin groaned again, shifting on the straw mat in search of comfort. Everything hurt, lying on her side, her chest and back. Her bruises now fully formed, covered almost half her body in ugly patchwork. Manoj winced for her, the whets glaring at back at him as he continued to stare. Lazily her eyes finally flickered to meet his, briefly filled with fear until he gentled hushed her, stroking her hair soothingly.

"Easy, little one. I wish to help" He waited a moment, letting her process his words through the haze still clouding her mind. Reluctantly Robin relented, sensing no immediate threat from the elderly healer. Placing her head back down on the sleeping mat, she waited as a matron entered the longhouse, beckoned by the sentry posted by the longhouse door. The large wooden-frame building, covered with sheets of elm bark was unlike anything Robin has seen before. It never ceased to amaze her just how different some tribes lived, despite the close proximity to each other. She admired that, the individuality among the masses. Polite as always, Manoj turned his back, whilst the matron redressed Robin's bandaging. Tenderly the aged woman applied cream to the still swollen and bruised areas, particularly around Robin's chest, where the impact of the rapids most struck. Her whimpers of discomfort soften the Manoj's heart. She was in obvious pain, but she refused to admit it. She wasn't crying, whining for relief and attention. For one so young, her resolve was strong.

Shifting under the thick fur pelt Robin quickly realised she was as bare as the day she was born. Sheepishly she turned away, covering her chest in modesty. The matron only chuckled playfully at her bashfulness, coaxing her with comforting reassurances. Manoj, anticipating Robin's hesitation, hollered to sentry outside. Clothes were then quickly thrown in. Clearly they belonged to a male. The beaded shirt alone engulfed Robin's slender form down to her thighs, but it would serve until proper clothing could be made.

With the kind woman's aid, Robin slowly sat up, looking to the aged elder for some enlightenment to the situation. Never forgetting her manners, she weakly nodded in gratitude. "Thank you, for helping me." Her voice was still dry and throaty. It was only then did she realise how painfully thirsty she was. Sipping from a bowl of water, Robin finally noticed they were not alone in the longhouse.

There were others present, at the other end, congregating and socialising around a controlled fire. Many were elders like Manoj, councilmen and experienced braves, smoking their tobacco pipes whilst in a heated debate. Very few actually paid her much attention. But if they did, they were very good at hiding it, their expression impassive to read, despite her awkward presence among them. Robin soon concluded this longhouse was no place for a woman. But it seemed for now they were making an exception. Manoj was clearly monitoring the debate, but also wished to stay close by in case Robin's condition deteriorated.

Speaking slowly at first, the wise medicine man finally introduced him-self "I am Manoj, of the Mohawk people. You are safe here, Little Robin…" his eyes held a degree of familiarity. Of course she wouldn't have remembered him. Curiously, Robin inquired. "Have we met?"

Nodding in fond remembrance, Manoj recounted. "Once, many summers ago. You were just a new born, but those eyes have not changed. I knew your grandmother, very well. We were…good friends" a flicker of sorrow shadowed his expression. Indeed he had heard of Willow's fate. It was a shamefully unfitting end, for one so great. Manoj was even more determined to never see Robin meet that fate. She was lucky to have survived this time. Following that trail of thought, Manoj started seeking for answers. "Tell me child, what happened to you?" he gestured her to mass of bruises.

The mere thought caused Robin pain. "It is a very long story. I was taken captive by a Huron, held in a Lenape village before I escaped over the falls". Robin had to admit, it sounded like one hell of adventure…bordering a nightmare. It was then the Longhouse went silent; all eyes were on her. It was rather unnerving.

"A Huron?" Manoj's eyes narrowed in thought. "They are a fiendish race. What did you do to earn their fury?" The Hurons. The Boar heads, when translated. Part of the Iroquoian people, the Hurons were a force to be reckoned with. Their allegiance shifted like rapid waters. Trade with them was as unpredictable as battle. They were expert hunters with skills as deadly as the wolves that roamed in the forest with them. In battle their war whoops struck fear into even the bravest hearts. Tales of their conquests were spreading. War parties struck in quick successions, hard and fast. Spoils of war were often taken, and whatever was left was burned to the ground. Manoj momentarily shuddered in dread, closing his eyes in thought. What trouble had befallen this child? Hurons were like rabid dogs. Once their locked onto a scent of interest, they would run their prey into the ground, until there was no escape. Manoj hoped this Huron Robin spoke of, assumed she was dead.

"Another long tale. The Huron, Magua, has a feud with someone named Greyhair. He led us astray from our path, and attempted an attack. If not for Chingachgook and his sons, many would have died" her voice warmed in recollection. Chingachgook. She hoped the Mohican trio were alive, keeping the Cora and Alice safe. Major Heyward too.

"Chingachgook, the Mohican?" Again recognition lit up in Manoj's face. It was a small world after all.

"You know him too?" Robin blinked, cocking her head aside in childish curiosity.

Those gathered near by chuckled alongside Manoj's. "He has made quite a name for him-self." Coughing slightly, Manoj recomposed himself. "Where are they now?" Perhaps the Mohicans knew more of situation. The French were advancing on the British, sabotaging trade routes and raiding neighbouring forts with the aid of allied tribes. Many had been drawn into the white man's war, for the sake of better trade. And yet so many have died, for nothing. Empty promises left unfulfilled, on both fronts. When would it end?

"I don't know. We were heading to Fort William Henry. Chances are they are there, by now. It has been days since I was taken". Worry slowly knotted in her gut. How long had she been gone? Could they already be at Fort William Henry? Were they searching for her? Unlikely, given her circumstances. No one would risk their life, for a gypsy…

Lost in her thoughts, Manoj turned, mumbling to those nearby. It then occurred her; they were talking about her…

"What is going on?" Robin mumbled, sheepishly tugging at Manjo's buckskin leggings.

"You have nothing to fear, Little Robin. They are still debating…" He didn't want to worry her.

After a moment of silence, she deduced, "About me…" Her large teal green eyes were wide with emotion. Curiosity. Fear. Confusion.

"Yes" Manoj finally admitted, seeing no point in lying to the poor girl. Settling back beside her, he gestured to those who still spoke "Lokesh believes you should go back to the white man." He motioned to one Mohawk elder. "But Hawani argues for your safety. He believes you were brought here for a reason. You are young, and injured. He wishes you to stay." The one whom Manoj identified as Hawani glanced over towards them, offering a brief smile of affection, before stoically returning to the debate at hand.

Despite the endearing gesture, Robin frowned "And I have no say in this?" Typical patriarchal system…

Manoj quickly redirected the conversation, despite Robin's disapproving pout. "You are spirited, like your grandmother. She would want you to be safe". Reluctantly Robin relented, reoccupied with the thoughts of her grandmother. What would she think of her troublesome granddaughter? Yet again up to no good…

Lost in thought, her admirer went unnoticed for quite some time. The sentry outside continuously peered in, stealing glances of Robin when she wasn't looking. By pure coincident, did their eyes simultaneously meet. Innocently, they just stared at each other, either unsure of the other. Admittedly he was handsome, only a few years older than Robin. He reminded Robin of an impressive stag deer. He was tall, beating Major Heyward by a few good inches. His hair was in a popular tribal fashion. A majority of the scalp had been shaven, leaving only a pony tail, adorned with beads and a feather. His chest was bare, but painted with tribal décor. Robin silently wondered if the markings had any sort of meaning. But the eyes said it all. Staring into his eyes she couldn't help but recall those of Magua. His dark eyes reminded her of a hellish inferno, and like a moth to a flame, she feared she would be burned if she ever came face to face with that Huron again. Thinking of Magua unsettled Robin to such a point she hadn't realised the matron was speaking to her. It seemed she scolded for curious sentry at the door, going so far as to shoo him before proceeding to brush through what little of Robin's hair she had. Despite the length the muddy waters made a horrific muck up of her hair. Birds could nest in it, as the matron repeatedly said, having difficulty combing out the clumps of dirt. It didn't help Robin kept fidgeting.

Robin could only sit there patiently and wait, curiously glancing back to the doorway where the Mohawk brave stood once more, attentive to his duty. "Manoj…who is that?" she sheepishly motioned to the young man, trying not to make her intention obvious. It was rude to point.

Glancing over his shoulder Manoj nodded in acknowledgement, "Hawani's eldest son…Waneek, he helped carry you from the river".

Waneek was very well known and well liked in the village. A skilled hunter, and an even more noble warrior, many knew his name, even in other villages. He was very brave, always first to engage the enemy in battle, and never one to back down easily. He was an example many set to follow. Some believed he would take his father's place on the council, when the time cam. Young maidens would utter his name in longing sighs, dreaming of the day he may court them. But as of recently, he only concerned him-self with his ambitious pursuits of glory and counting coups. He had no interest in any of the fawning women. A wife, he felt, would only hinder and burden his lust for youthful adventures. That was until a strange white girl from the river washed ashore. Despite her unpleasant state at the time, carrying her in his arms, Waneek could see the blossoming beauty beneath the mud and bruises. Her copper blonde locks reminded him of the morning flames that rose with the sun each day. The strange shortness interested him. She seemed so foreign, so unusual. Combined with her freckled features, small button nose and high developing cheeks, Waneek could have sworn she was fairy folk. Mischievous spirits of nature. How else could she have bewitched him so easily? One look into her oceanic coloured eyes, and he, a great hunter of the Mohawk, was snared…

"Why was he staring at me?" Robin comfortably shifted, rubbing her sore ligaments to incite some mobility.

"He is…curious" Manoj smiled knowing. Youth was so fickle. Waneek rarely let him-self falter. But for a brief moment, his intentions were easily read by the wise old elder. He was nearly blind, but even he could see what Waneek sought to discreetly hide.

"Why? Am I amusing to look at?" she did not intend to sound as hostile as she did. The weight of her situation was finally dawning on her. What had she got her-self into this time…what was going to to happen to her?

Manoj apparently dismissed her tone with a casual wave. "He's never seen a white woman before. Only white men have been foolish enough to enter our lands. They'd be even more foolish to bring their women with them". A moment passed before Manoj uncharacteristically grinned. "You are also wearing his shirt"

There was a brief pause of silence. "Oh…Oh!" the delayed reaction caused chuckles all around. She wondered who shirt it was. Robin threw her-self under the fur pelt in embarrassment. What would people at the fort think? Their tender civilized sensibilities would be shocked. The looks on their faces would have surely been amusing. Robin suddenly shot up from hiding, looking startled. A thought suddenly occurred to her. If her travelling party had made it to the fort, they could be in danger. The French were closing in, Magua and his Huron hordes could join them. In a moment of panic she searched for her faithful tarot cards. Perhaps the cards could give her more insight. But disappointingly she remembered, she had left them behind when she fled from the Lenape village. Knowing Magua, he has probably burned them.

"I have to go to Fort William Henry" she looked beseeching at Manoj, gesturing to the council in desperation "You must tell them…"

Manoj was startled by Robin's sudden alarm "What awaits you? Is it worth your life?" She certainly wasn't in any condition to go gallivanting.

"What do you mean?" she blinked with just naivety, Manoj almost pitied her. He was almost reluctant to continue. Carefully he spoke, "There is word spreading from village to village, that those allied with the French will lead a great attack on the British. The fort you speak of is sure to fall" Manoj saw no point in lying to her. Perhaps if she knew now, she could come to terms with it sooner. Wishful thinking.

Robin staggered to feet, despite the painful protest in her body. "All the more reason for me to go! Warn them before it is too late!" he outburst caused silence in the longhouse once more. Manoj tried to calm her down, cupping her hand into his. "And if it is too late? What then, child? Would you risk your life for such foolishness?"

Under the weight of exhaustion and her own body Robin's legs buckled and she reluctantly relented "I wouldn't forgive my-self if I didn't try…"

The elder shook his head, grudgingly softened by her plight. "Stubborn" he huffed "Just like your grandmother…and it was what got her killed". Manoj would never forgive him-self if he let something happen to Willow's granddaughter. She had already escaped death once, next time she may not be so lucky.

But Robin still refused to yield. She appealed to his good nature. "Manjo…there are women and children at that fort…the wounded and sick. They don't deserve to die"

Manoj hardened his resolve. This debate always came up. Even with Willow. "Neither did those of the tribes the white man has already attacked and wiped out. How can one wrong be right, and other wrong not?" With an exhaustive sigh Manoj concluded "an eye for an eye…." It was a law as old as time itself.

Robin shook her head is disagreement. With a wistful knowing tone Robin could only argue, "An eye for an eye makes the world blind" Reflective silence took over. Both knew this discussion would lead them nowhere. Grudgingly Manoj admitted Robin's words were wise, well beyond her years. Must have been her grandmother's influence, he concluded with a solemn nod. Willow was a pacifist, but she never gave up without a fight. And it seemed never would Robin. Finally after some time, Robin swore as she once more tried to stand. "If I must find my own way to the fort, I will"

Exasperated Manoj sceptically dismissed her efforts. "Bruised and battered as you are now? You wouldn't make it pass the village outskirts". Manoj had hoped that would be the end of it. He beckoned the matron once more. It seemed Robin was finally recovering. If she was well enough to argue, then she was well enough to eat. Robin ravenously consumed the meaty stew offered, ravelling in the savoury morsel. Slowly she felt her strength returning.

Waneek abruptly entered the longhouse, honouring his father with a nod of acknowledgement, before kneeling beside Manoj, speaking in a hushed rapid tone. They spoke in their exotic native tongue, but Robin felt no deceptive intention. She merely assumed Waneek's English was not as advanced as Manoj's. If it was a private matter, they wouldn't have spoken about it so openly. The exchange however soon turned into yet another disagreement. Manoj repeatedly shook his head, whilst Waneek made assertive gestures, clearly trying to support his point. Waneek then rose and informally addressed the council. He spoke similar words to the council, and they seemed far more compliant than Manoj. It seemed they had reached an agreement.

Nosy as always Robin piped up, fidgeting for attention. "What is he saying? What's going on?" When no one immediately answered her, she shifted to face the brave. "Waneek?" she looked at him questioningly, expecting some sort of answer. He said and did nothing at first. Standing before a council of superior men, Waneek had to keep himself composed. Open affection towards one who was not his wife, would have been scandalous.

Finally after some time, Manoj translated, though he was clearly displeased. He grumbled whilst he spoke. "Waneek sees your distress, and offers to take a canoe party down river to the Fort. Much safer than on foot. You may deliver your warning and then return." Manoj looked unimpressed with the solution. Waneek however looked rather pleased with him-self, smiling broadly at the thought of helping the River Woman. Abruptly he then left, without a second glance. He wished to leave by morning. One on the river, they could open their hearts to each other. The matron, still present throughout this encounter, chuckled at the whole situation. Only a woman could see what was really going on. Knowingly the matron smiled, patting Robin's hand in tender affection. "Waneek has soft eyes for you". Robin blinked, at a loss.

What was that supposed to mean?

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A/N - sorry for the wait, University has been busy. sorry this chapter isn't that interesting, but hopefully in the next Magua will make a reappearance ;) by the way, what do people think of Waneek ? ? ? hmmm ? ? ? review please !


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – woah ! thank you to all my fans still reading :) let's see if I can make this even more interesting ! By the way, don't quote me on the meaning and translation of names. Also…spot the song lyric ! read and see ;)

_Blah _– thought / **blah –** another language

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Magua had never been in such a foul mood. Greyhair and his brood still eluded him, and Little Bird had shamed him greatly with her daring escape. As God as his witness, if he ever saw that crazy girl again, he'd throttle her for her defiance. The march back to the Lenape village was humiliating. He could have ranted and raved to the spirits for such rotten luck. Why had they abandoned his noble quest? Magua halted in his stride, wrestling for control over the storm within him. He was angered beyond all belief; no amount of tobacco or firewater could cure him of his woes. All he saw when he closed his eyes was the maddening vision of his failure. Little Bird! The witch haunted him, insistently. Her wilful ways and determination all but infuriated him. Never had he met such an unruly woman. Good women were obedient and quiet, expected to accept captivity, if ever taken. Resistance was punished swiftly for both the master's sake, and the captive's. For honour and survival. Resistive captives were quickly disposed of. They wasted too much time and effort. Thinking about it now he should have killed her when he had the chance. Because of her he had lost sight of all that mattered. Greyhair and his forsaken offspring! They had eluded him, ever since he had set eyes on that curse of a woman! But she was in his blood now, like sweet venom, under his skin, like a second pelt. Could he really rid himself of her, with no regret?

If he smothered her while she slept, would he still see her in his dreams? If he cut her swan like throat, would he still want to touch her, when her blood was on his hands? If he held her under the water, until finally she went limp, would he then still hold her as the warmth left her corpse? Would it finally chase away her wicked ghost from his thoughts? Haunted with these scenarios, Magua lashed out, casting his rifle aside in bitter displeasure. Alone in the forest, he gathered his thoughts, watching as the blazing sky darkened into night.

Greyhair and his pair of troublesome daughters would soon meet their fate. That much was promised. But Magua wondered, how could one capture prey as elusive as water? Little Bird had no fear of dying, he had seen that much. And because of that his grudging respect for her grew. But she also challenged him, mentally as well as spiritual. Physically she was no match, so instead she waged war on his mind and soul. Their meeting was a battle of wills. And it wasn't over. Fate had tied them, whether they wanted it or not. Magua decided to deal with her then. But in sick contemplation he couldn't help but wonder. Was she thinking of him, as much as he was of her? Did she regret fleeing from him, now that she was alone, possibly lost in the wilderness with no protector by her side? Did she hear his calls, in the howls of the winds?

Abruptly he stood, recovering his rifle. When did he regress to such a folly youth? He did not lose sight of his goals so easily. He would channel his frustration into a productive force. The fox was not only clever, but he was patient. In pursuit he was ruthless. It was only a matter of time until the prey crossed paths with him again.

Word from their French brothers sighted the British redcoats arriving at the Fort. Now it was only a matter of time. Their quarry was trapped. Pinned down, ready for the final blow. It was time to mobilise Huron forces and join the French for the long waited massacre of the English dogs. French General Montcalm promised peace with the English Fort, but Magua did not. Montacalm wanted the glory of conquest, but not the hard bloody work of counting coup. But he made it clear to Magua, wished to attack, he would not hinder them. Magua would not be denied the pleasure of the kill. Greyhair and his brood were finally together. In one foul swoop he would wipe their seed from the earth, and restore his honour. Only then could his dark heart begin to heal.

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The party left the Mohawk village early, just after sunrise. Bidding farewell to the matron who had cared for her, Robin quickly hurried to the shore where the braves waited. It was only a small scouting party, with Waneek as the lead. Making the last of adjusts to his rifle Waneek looked up, his breathe briefly stolen. Cleaned and well dressed in buckskin Robin looked like a vision of nature. She wore leggings and a shirt, beaded with blue decorations that accented her eyes and flaming hair. Though still slightly bruised, she didn't look too worse for wear. She still refused to wear moccasins, preferring to have that sacred connection with nature undisturbed. 'Gypsies are buried standing, you know', her grandmother once said. 'We spend our entire lives walking to find our way in life. If you're not listening to feet, how do you know where you're going?' Waneek took special notice of the wolf tooth anklet around her dainty right foot.

"River woman!" A young boy ran up from behind her, smiling with excitement. Robin was taken aback by the name at first. Was that the name they've given her now? He was tall, despite his age, but his hair wasn't cut like that of the men. It was still long and unkempt, with no beads or feathers like the experienced braves. He still charming though. He was still a boy, rather than a warrior. "I am Koda", his smile was bright and friendly, putting Robin at ease. But before she could even respond to the over enthusiastic youth, he ran off to join the men at the river bank.

It seemed the Mohawk youth would be accompanying them. It seemed strange at first. He looked too young to accompany them. If they ran into the enemy, surely he would be in as much danger as she. But Robin remembered children, although greatly loved, were not as sheltered as white children. Boys learned to hunt and train from a very early age. Perhaps he was coming to gain some experience. However she soon learnt he spoke very good English for one so young. It helped him act as translator, for Waneek's obsessive questioning.

Through Koda translation Waneek asked all the questions that plagued him. Where did River woman come from? Where were her family? Where was she going? And how did she end up in the river to begin with? Recanting her tales was almost as exhausting as living through them, but with every tale the scouting party became more awed by Robin's bravery and courage. Her plight moved Waneek's heart into action. Tempering his nerves he cautiously asked Koda to translate one more time.

"River woman" Koda called again. She was quickly getting used to the new name. She found their naming process rather beautiful in its simplicity. "Waneek wants to know if your husband is at this fort?"

Robin paused for a moment, glancing at Waneek in the canoe beside her. He purposely avoided her gaze, but the tension knotted in his jaw was a clear as day. He was only trying to appear enigmatic. Playfully Robin asked in return, "Why does Waneek want to know"

He was silent for some time, as if trying to compose the right words to say. Then in an uncharacteristic tone, he replied to Koda to answer. It took Koda a minute to speak, a sheepish smile slowly blooming into a grin. "He wants to know what sort of man would leave such a beautiful wife unprotected"

The reply certainly caught Robin by surprise. Never had she been called 'beautiful'. Blushing, she looked away, skimming her fingers over the passing waters. "You may tell Waneek, I am not married…nor do I intend to"

"But you are a woman!" Koda exclaimed, before being chided by one of the braves for his outburst. They still needed to keep a low profile, especially as they were getting closer to the Fort. "What I meant was you need a husband to protect to you. To hunt and provide for you"

Robin saw the boy meant no offense, it was just his culture, and she respected that. In some way it reminded her of her own roots. "I am a Shuvani…I am not permitted to marry"

"What is a Shuvani?" Of course she didn't expect him to know. A gypsy's culture was as forever changing as the winds. What one clan did, another may not. And rarely was it ever discussed with outsiders.

Robin took a moment consider her words. "A shuvani…is like a medicine woman. I am to follow in my grandmother's footsteps. In my clan, a shuvani is already married, to her clan and duty. She may take a husband, when a new shuvani is selected to succeed her."

Robin had forgot, medicine people were held in high esteem. Appreciative murmurs were heard from the other braves. They were starting to like this white girl. Keeping her in the village would bring good medicine. But suddenly Waneek looked disappointed, troubled even by this new revelation. Tribal law now dictated Waneek's options. One did not simply court a medicine woman, as he would other maidens. He must also consider what rules River Woman's tribe had as well. The coyote must surely be laughing.

Robin noticed Waneek silent displeasure and quickly tried to lighten the situation. "Now I have question for Waneek…what does his name mean?"

"Handsome Stag" Koda replied with a roll of his eyes. At that Waneek's puffed up his chest in display, like an impressive peacock showing off his fine plumage.

"Appropriate…" her slight smile earned a grin from Waneek. Braves in the opposite canoe chuckled to them-selves, though Koda was utterly clueless to the situation. Good medicine was in the air. But soon that faded. The braves grew quiet and alert. In a hushed tone, Koda nodded to Robin. "We are here…"

But all she could see was tree line, blanketed in growing fog. "Where? I don't see the fort"

"Deeper in forest. Waneek will lead"

Silently they docked alongside the river bank. Concealing the canoes the scouting party continued on foot. Robin was careful to follow exactly in Koda's footsteps. They used fallen trees to form a path, avoiding movement on the forest floor which would surely give away their position. Crawling slowly up an incline, they stopped and paused for some time. Waneek and Koda peered over the hillside for a moment, before relaying the information to the others. Something wasn't right.

"Why are we stopping…" Robin whispered to a brave nearby. He muttered to another before replying in broken English. "White man on the move…"

Confused for a moment, Robin made her own way up the hillside, peeking over through a near bush for cover. "Those are the reinforcements…why are they leaving?" she recognised their blinding red coasts. She also recognised French soldiers that were present; watching as the British forces retreated, accompanying people from fort. It was as if they were abandoning the fort all together. The sea of faces said it all. Defeat, loss and exhaustion. The fort had been conquered…

"Uncas!" Robin suddenly shouted, recognising the man as he walked amongst the masses of white faces. Without a second thought she ran towards him, clumsily staggering down the hillside catch up to him, she barely heard Koda calling after her, though he did not pursue. "River woman, wait!"

Robin ran amongst the grass, passing hordes of people with each step. "Uncas!" she called again, before spotting his father not too far ahead. "Chingachgook!" she'd never been so happy to see anyone else in her entire life. The Mohican was taken back, tenderly cupping her face in affection. He looked relieved to see her. "Robin? You are alive. Thank the spirits."

The three briefly moved out of everyone's way, conversing in bewilderment to the situation. "What's going on? Why are we leaving the Fort?!" Looking at the people as they walked passed Robin could see many were carrying their possessions on their backs, taking everything they could. Everything that wasn't already by the French that is. To the victor go the spoils.

Chingachgook grievously explained the situation. "The French have besieged the fort for months. The French general has offered safe passage to Albany, if Colonel Munro surrenders the fort to French control…"

Robin was taken back. Everyone knew the French were lying, thieving bastards! As cowardly in battle as they were in politics. Using dirty underhanded trickery was second nature to them. No wonder they allied with the Hurons! "And Colonel Munro believed them? Where is he? Where are Cora and Alice?"

Uncas pointed ahead. She pointed Alice and Cora in the heart of the marching convey, sharing a horse in sisterly travel. They didn't seem any worse for wear, perhaps a bit shaken. Hawkeye was nearby, like a faithful guardian. With him nearby no one dared to near. Peering further ahead she could see Colonel Munro leading a head, in his regal attire and ceremonial grey wig, sullen and sulky, he still held his head high. Frightening realisation slowly crawled up her spine. "Greyhair…" Could he be the one Magua is after? Were Cora and Alice also his targets? She suddenly felt sick, her head hazy with disorientation. No, what business did Magua have with the Munro clan?

"Robin" Chingachgook looked at her peculiarly, noting her unease, she looked like she had seen a ghost "Robin are you alright?"

Her eyes glazed over, her mind wandering adrift with visions of death. The smell of blood and musket fire burning the back of her throat. She almost fainted with such force Uncas had to steady her. The trees moved like shadows, screaming and hollering with such blood thirst, it was maddening. Amidst it all, a pair of eyes, as black as coal, glared at her. The intensity lighting her breast aflame like an inferno, set to burn her alive with no mercy "Something…horrible…is going to happen…" the visions spurned words of warning. In her sicken trance, she looked to the forest, seeking out the eyes which called to hers. There was only darkness.

Chingachgook pulled Robin into his arms, driving the visions away with his fatherly comfort. She had the sight, he was certain of it, and it tortured her. It could drive some to madness. All he could was pray the spell left her innocent eyes soon. Yet the warning still rang true. Cautiously eyeing the surrounding forest the Mohican nodded to his son. **"Alert the others…"** It was not wise to dismiss such visions of doom.

"Get on a horse, child, and keep your head down…" With that the Mohican ran ahead, intending to alert Hawkeye on the matter at hand. He did not get the chance.

War whoops rang out from nowhere; raging savages were on them like a pack of animals, within seconds. Rifle fire rang out amongst all the confusion, whilst screams of terror ascended in chorus. One innocent settler fell after the other, struck down by the blow of a tomahawk. Robin's legs, still shaken by the mental vision, gave out under her, forcing the horror of which she had foreseen play out before her. She saw British soldiers wrestle with painted warriors, fighting for their lives whilst women and children were carried off into the forest, surely never to be seen again. In the middle of it all, none heard Robin's cry of anguish. Common sense screamed for her to run, to find cover until the massacre was over. But as she stumbled to her feet she was thrown back, a Huron brave painted as black as devil, leered down at her, brandishing an already bloody tomahawk. Heart pumping she scurried back, desperately kicking out as the monster approached, snapping at her heels. A shot fired from behind, striking the brave in his head. He fell inches from Robin's feet, the blood beginning to pool in between her toes. She shrieked again, crawling away in disgust. Uncas stood, flanked by two other friendly native allies. He hoisted her up and pulled her to run with him as the crossed the battle field, occasionally returning fire and engaging the enemy in what were quick and brutal kills. Hawkeye and Chingachgook had already made it to Cora and Alice. Major Heyward, thrown from his horse in the scuffle, shot a clear path through to the river Robin had originally come from.

Chingachgook was barely heard over the roar of war. "We must get to the river!" The Munro sisters, shocked into silence offered no resistance. Dashing across the now corpse littered clearing they were pursued. Some of the natives had stayed hidden in the tree line, waiting for those who tried to flee. With little ammunition left all they could was sprint down to the embankment, quickly commandeering an enemy canoe. Down the embankment Robin had lost her foot, her unprotected soles cut on the rocky pebble shore. Having fallen behind the rest, she was easy pickings for the animals that chased behind them.

A body of force slammed into her from behind, tackling her to the ground; with such force she almost lost unconsciousness. She cried out in agony as pain erupted from her still tender chest. The Huron was on top of her in a second, wrestling to subdue her. She still fought back, thrashing and flaying like a wildcat desperate to escape, clawing at him with as must ferocity as any animal cornered would unleash. But the warrior blind sighted her, striking her across the face, to stun her into submission before pulling her to her feet.

"Robin!"

She could not hear Chingachgook's cry over the gun fire and war cries. His anguish was that of a father, losing his child to the clutches of a beast of the forest. He would have fired his rifle, if the Huron had not held her so close. The party was already in the canoe, drifting away into the fog. What he wouldn't give to return and fight to save her. Quickly, the girl had become like a daughter. He couldn't bear the shame of leaving her behind again.

"Chingachgook!" she wailed desperately, struggling in the arms of the Huron "Help!" The warrior growled in his guttural tongue, tightening his hold around her chest to the point of unbearable discomfort. She could only watch helplessly as her companions disappeared off into the safety of the mist. In the distance, the screams and gunfire slowly stopped. The battle was subsiding. It was over. The British were defeated. Victorious whoops filled the air, when all but mournful silence remained.

The Huron threw her to ground, kicking her once in the stomach whilst his comrades regrouped. They muttered and jeered amongst themselves, boasting and brandishing their trophies. Fresh human scalps, still drinking with blood. Robin wanted to run away and vomit. But as soon as she staggered to her feet two braves pounced, tackling her again to the ground. Letting out a scream of frustration Robin relented. The pain in her chest restricted her breathing to the point of suffocation. The two Hurons kept her subdued to the ground. One kept her arms pinned behind her back, whilst the other coiled his around her throat, brandishing a bloodied knife in warning. She heaved with exhaustion, reluctantly relaxing in their hold, to show her submission. After a moment, the brave finally sheathed his knife, smirking with gleeful domination. He was ugly. His war paint now smeared and smudged. An equally ugly scar had claimed his right eye. His breath already stank of stolen British supplied whiskey. They were just starting to load up the spoils when the fleeing party made a break for the rest of the canoes, left unguarded.

"You're Magua's woman" One of the older warriors approached them, kneeling down to face her level. He paused to inspect her for a moment, noting the angry red whet on the side of her face from where she had been struck. Magua wouldn't be happy. The brave her caught her was still young and hot blooded. He struck without thinking. Robin also recognised this Huron. He was also the one her grabbed her from the caves, before she had a chance to jump. The recognition fuelled Robin's hostile demeanour.

"I'm nobody's woman" she hissed like a feral cat, causing amusement amongst the braves. The one before her shook his head and grabbed her by the jaw. He continued to gaze at her, drinking in the rebellious pools of her eyes. Her resistance didn't phrase him. He had taken many captives in the past. It never took long to break them of their troublesome spirit. But Robin's was unlike any he had seen in quite some time. Her eyes reflect the unrivalled force of nature. The ocean spirit in her eyes was vast and feral with well lived freedom. He wondered how Magua would tame one so unruly.

"**It's strange what desire can make foolish people do…"** He spoke softly, as if lost in her eyes. "Put her in the canoe. Magua will want her back in his wigwam" He jumped up when Robin lashed out.

"No! Let me go!" she shouted at the top of her voice, withering and thrashing with renewed defiance. It was not a welcome change. When pulled to her feet once more he held her chin in his grasp, forcing her to look at him. "Quiet, woman! You will behave!" Robin in response to such a command swiftly sank her teeth into the offending ligament, refusing to let go until wretched by her hair.

"**Troublesome vixen!"** The Huron snarled inspecting the wound as it began to bleed. "You are lucky Magua wants you back at all! I would never take such a defiant woman into my wigwam" When she spat at his feet, he scowled in distain. Such an wild captive wouldn't come quietly, no matter how often she was struck. She could capsize the canoe with her thrashing and struggling.

Fishing a flask from his pouch he approached again. **"Firewater should put you to sleep".** Forcefully pouring the strong liquor down her throat, he waited, refusing to recant, even as she choked and struggled, the foul alcohol spilling onto her shirt. Within minutes Robin fell limp in the arms of her captors, drunk to the point of flaccidity. The sour tasting rum was strong, even for a man. Soon she would fall asleep, and stay that way for some time. It was either that, or strike her until she lost consciousness. Magua would not forgive him for spoiling such a lovely face. Binding her hands and feet for further measure, they loaded Robin into the canoe, throwing a stolen shawl over her for concealment. The French still opposed the taking of white captives, if seen they may try and take her for themselves. Greedy bastards.

Congregating by the river side the braves waited for the rest to join them, some swapped and traded spoils, while others tended to their wounds. It was only a matter of time until Magua also came, painted in the blood of his victory, and followed by his personal dogs of war. Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. It confirmed Greyhair's awaited demise.

"Ongewa, why did you not pursue Greyhair's daughters?" a flicker of discontent tainted Magua's triumphant leer. Greyhair's daughters were meant to die with their father, yet he saw neither of them amongst the captives taken. For them to escape him now was just unacceptable.

Taking a delightful swig of his rum, Ongewa smiled with deliberate intent "Where can they run, that we cannot follow? Savour the day, Magua. Count one coup at a time" he gestured for him to follow "I saved your spoils…"

Casting back the cloth Ongewa grinned; drinking in Magua's stunned reaction. He was almost left speechless. "Little Bird…" he cupped her cheek, in a strange form of affection, leaving behind a bloody handprint of ownership. Like the mighty brother wolf, he wanted to throw his head back and howl with triumph. The winds were finally shifting in his favour. He knew she had survived. One so defiant would not die so easily. He shifting her in the canoe slightly, inspecting her person in detail. She bore ugly bruises from her fall, but nothing threatened her life, she would however be sore some time. It would serve him well. If she knew what was good for her, she would not be so foolish and flee again. He wouldn't give her the opportunity. He had been careless last time, and paid for it dearly. This time, he would keep two eyes on his deliciously elusive little bird. What did make him more curious was the buckskin she wore. It was not the same one she had fled from him in. As always Little Bird continued to perplex him. What had she been doing while free from him? And who had she been with?

Breaking his mental contemplation, a brave, fearful to approach sullenly announced, **"Our scouts lost them in the fog..."**

Magua paused, still looking down at Robin's red drunken face, **"No matter…"** in an uncharacteristic tone, Magua dismissed the subordinate, seeming only content with stroking Robin slightly grown wavy locks. It was like watching a child, given back a longed for toy. **"Return to the village. Unload the spoils, and pursue them on foot."**

Climbing aboard with Robin unconscious in his arms, Magua sat, leading the Huron party back to their allied village. Never had Magua had more of a reason to smile. Greyhair was dead. Magua had also promised him the death of his seed. The English lay dead in the valley and his unwitting temptress lay in his arms. All was going according to plan; it was only a matter of time, until the climatic ending concluded on its self. Then Magua may focus his attention on more pressing matters. He laid a tender kiss on Robin's temple, her head lovingly resting on his shoulder, whilst his rifle was slung across her lap. He was like a ravenous wolf, protecting his prize from others who sought to take it. Magua eyes never lost sight of their surroundings. They were being watched, by those concealing themselves in the forest. Perhaps neighbouring tribes had sent out scouts of their own. When covered by the blanket of fog, Magua heard him. The anguished cry of a man, bellowed out from the darkness of the treeline.

"**RIVER WOMAN!" **

No one could be seen through the thick fog, and no one would dare to pursued. Robin never once stirred in Magua's arms...

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A/N – wow chapter 6, in a day, that is a record, course it is like 3:30am, I think I have earned some sleep. You know the drill people, rate and review ! things are starting to get good!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – A/N – yes people still here, and we're just getting to the juicy bits :D stay tuned and review, more reviews, more chapters !

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Robin groggily stirred from her alcohol induced slumber many hours later, head dizzy with disorientation and dull throbbing pain. She was like a new born fawn, her movements sluggish and weak. Her head swam with remnants of intoxication. She didn't even have to capability to register her surrounding, or the bed of pelts she laid on, like a succulent offering. Kindling crackled nearby as the fire roared. It was barely morning, still dark out, though there were already sounds of movement from outside. Young men patrolled as guards the outskirts of the settlement whilst the older wiser warriors began their prayers and chanting, greeting the day as they usually went about doing. The world was waking with her. Magua's coarse voice coaxed her attention.

He was sat by the fire, but within arm's reach. "Little Bird…" He cradled her cheek in his meaty paw, nudging her slightly with such care; it was as if he feared she would break. She blinked a few times; her eyes were still glassy and unfocused from the alcohol. The glow of the flames eerily reflected in her teal eyed gaze.

"Magua…" the word was barely audible. For it a moment it seemed she doubted he was even there. Did her visions haunt her yet again? He did not reply

He only watched in silence, like a spectre of the shadows, fixated by the creature before him. The light of the fire blinded her sensitive eyes, his hulky frame and defined features were all but a blurry haze. Exasperated she slumped back onto the pelts, throwing her arm over to cover her eyes. Only then did she hear the distractive chime of metal. A chain and shackle, made of what one could only assume was fine silver, was locked around her dainty wrist tethering her to a nearby support post, with only enough length for her to move about the pelts. It took a moment for Robin to realise; she had well and truly been caged, like a fine bird of an oriental tale. Plucked from the wild to kept and domesticated by a master.

She then drunkenly looked at him like a sulky child. "You…chained me" the accusation had no lasting impact of mortification. The drunkenness had still left her voice almost breathless. Where had he even gotten such a trinket? From the French, no doubt. It was no ordinary chain; there was too much detail in the craftsmanship. It was a pet chain, for the exotic prizes of the aristocratic. Perhaps a lover's shackle, to bind beloved flesh to another, so neither could escape the other. Magua held the chain in his grasp, tracing the delicate metal work in between his fingers, slowly inching to the base shackled on Robin's wrist. He gingerly brought her hand his lips, inches from actual contact before she jerked away, rather abruptly.

"You need to be chained, or else you would fly". He watched again as she repeatedly tugged and thrashed, testing the silver's strength. It would hold, for now. The firewater still lingered in her veins. She would be docile, for a while at least. Long enough for him to speak without fighting for her to listen. He had much he wished to discuss with her.

He moved beside the fire again, pouring a cup of the watery brew he had prepared whilst she slept. Looking at her once more in full view Magua' heart swelled with what he could only call pride. His woman, lying amongst the furs he had accumulated from his hunters. All fine and fit for the war chief he had now become. Her white skin glowed like the moon in spring. Once he found such a colouration distasteful. Now he wouldn't settle for anything else. His little bird, his little robin, now chained to him, as it should be. Steeling him-self from these thoughts Magua composed him-self, hardening his tone to speak. "Magua should punish you for your last flight...but today he is merciful…"

Lazily she blinked at him, looking as though she would fall asleep again. "Why?"

"There is good medicine in the air. Lenape sachem believes it comes with your return. He fears punishing you will bring bad fortune. You are spared, this time" Shifting her body so she rest propped up in his lap he offered her the warm drew with stern insistences. She grumbled at first, but ultimately relaxed and drank it. It tasted like some sort of earthy tea, no doubt made from some plant or tree bark.

Magua took advantage of her rare docility and shifted to lay down beside her, side by side, her head resting affectionately on his shoulder. He held her with seasoned expertise. One hand stroked her cheek whilst the other held cupped her nape, tilting her head back so that she would look at him, even as her eyes battled to stay open. "The French say absence makes the heart grow fonder…time without you Little Bird was almost unbearable". The nights her spirit visited him were utter torment. Those eyes, staring at him in silent challenge set fire to his blood while her voice still rang out in his ears. Attentively he combed his fingers through her still short curls, engrossed by the moderate softness. He couldn't help but envision what she would look like if she allowed her hair her grow out like his tribeswomen.

Disgusted with his himself, but reluctant to act otherwise he continued. "Magua cannot break this spell of yours; witch…so Magua will no longer fight it. If he cannot fight you, he will be master you instead. Your medicine will make me strong" the more he spoke of his intentions the more it seemed right in his heart. Excitement laced his words. "When Greyhair's offspring are dead with him, we will join in celebration, as husband and wife"

"Join…?" Robin finally began to stir, shaking the haze from her thoughts. "Greyhair…" she mumbled, trying to recall why the name sounded so familiar. Realisation then struck like a bitter slap. "Wait…Colonel Munro! Alice and Cora! No!" she jerked from his touch, thrashing as she had done before. Sluggishness jarred her movements.

She hissed like a wounded feral cat. "You've drugged me…"

Magua reasoning seemed unaffected by the action, his tone calm and tranquil. As if nothing outside the wigwam mattered. "To keep you tame…"

After a moment of futile thrashing and frustrated curses she stilled, panting in defeated desperation. "Magua, please. Spare them" she looked to him beseeching. The pools of oceanic blue were pulling him in like quick sand. But he would not let his heart sway so easily, even for the one who made it beat so feverishly. Instead Magua shuffled to her side once more pulling her and the furs to him in contented embrace. It was as if they were already joined.

"Why do you hate us? Why do you hate me?" she squirmed in his hold, but he would not relent.

"Magua could never hate one so fair. Though he did try" His answer did not satisfy her. She pressed for another response, hoping to keep him distracted, and allow her time to regain her senses."Why do you hate Alice and Cora? What did Colonel Munro do to earn your fury?"

His composure snapped. He retched her up to face him. His iron grip crushing her shoulders with bruising force. "Munro killed Magua's children! With those Mohawk dogs, they captured Magua as his village burned!" Rage consumed the Huron's features. His face twisted in untold emotional agony. Panting from his outburst, Magua spoke again, reigning in control of his emotions. The inferno still burned, just not so close to surface. "When Magua regained his freedom, many years later, he finds his wife had married another. Magua was an outcast, stoned out of the village by his own people. Unworthy to return. Until now…"

With that they both fell silent. His usual stoic mask returned, his heaving chest slowly regulating back to normal. But Robin continued to saw, wide eyed and stunned. In that brief moment, he bared his soul to her. His quest for vengeance now seemed all the more clear, though she did not condone such action. In his world she knew honour meant everything, and any blight or offense was often quickly reckoned with, either through payment of compensation, or through blood. For many young virile warriors, violence often seemed more appeasing. Robin understood why Magua now went after Colonel Munro, but did he truly intend to go after Cora and Alice as well, who were completely innocent of any crime? Did he intend to kill them as well? She paled at the thought. And yet another peaked her interest. Magua had a wife, at some point in the past. She never even considered it, but he was an experienced warrior. It would be even peculiar if he had not taken a wife by now. Or a new one, even now? Had vengeance taken such a toll on his heart he had not opened it to another?

Quietly, in a small tone she finally asked, "Did you love her?" she looked at him expectantly. Surely they married for love?

Magua paused for a moment, considering his response. In a neutral tone he replied, "She was good wife. She cooked well and gave me strong children. What more can a warrior ask for?"

"And you will expect this from me? I will fight you…" she scowled, edging back at inch from him. Did he truly intend to marry her? He was much older than her, more than ten years her senior. She hadn't even considered marriage yet, though girls of her tribe would now start looking for young handsome suitors to show some attention.

He reached for her, dragging her back into his bear like embrace "You will learn, Little Bird…Behave and Magua will treat you well" It began with a soft kiss on her forehead. A gesture of comfort at first. He then kissed her cheek, the addiction whetting his appetite. Without warning his lips sealed over hers, stealing her breath away in one foul swoop. The arms that encircled around her tightened, her muffled cries vocalizing her displeasure. She hadn't even kissed a boy until now and suddenly it seemed this alpha like male intended to bed her right then and there. She kicked at him before Magua was suddenly rolled on top of her, his weight pinning her down beneath him. Despite her sobering state of mind, Robin struggled. "Quiet, Little Bird…Do not fear Le Renard Subtil. Love him…let him love you." he laid a kiss on her swan like neck, feeling her skin tremble beneath his lips. Many women would whimper and quietly submit. Robin, though frightened, would not yet relent. Her hips bucked, her head thrashed, she did what she could to deter him. Magua finally had to pin her wrists down on either side of her head to keep her from scratching out his eyes in her defence. Looking down at her he could see she was blushing in embarrassment. She was unfamiliar in the ways of men and women. Her chest heaving with exhausting from her struggles, Magua grudgingly withdrew from his carnal pursuit. Had she been a whore, much like the ones seen lingering at French encampments, he wouldn't have restrained him-self. But no, he easily recognised she was still an innocent maiden, unschooled and unprepared. If he truly intended to take her as his wife, he would treat her with the respect accordingly.

With a grudging sigh, he placed one last lingering kiss on her forehead "You are still young…you will learn" Reluctantly he withdrew, releasing her from his grasp so she could scurry away. "Magua will be good to you…he will protect you. He will feed you. You will soon be grateful" the Huron went back to the fire, illustrating his point by placing freshly skinned rabbits to roast on the open fire. He then reached into his medicine pouch and produced a familiar velvet bag. He threw them into her lap, as a sign of good faith.

"My cards…" bewildered she snatched them up, checking their condition before hugging them into her chest. She then blinked at Magua, looking perplexed. "You kept them…"

He dismissively shrugged at first, though displeasure laced his tone. "Magua wished to burn them, but could not. Your sorcery runs deep…when you left, you greatly shamed me…"

"You kept me tied, locked away like an animal…I only thought to run" she brandished her shackled wrist as further evidence.

"What does Little Bird suggest then?" he looked at her expectantly before turning the rabbits on the skewer.

Robin took a risky gamble, biting her lip before countering, "Do Hurons keep their wives bound all day? If I am to be your wife…unshackle me…let me walk outside"

Magua cocked his eyebrow at her, taken back by her gutsy remark. He looked like he was actually considering it, before again dismissing her with a sceptical huff. "So you can run again?"

"I won't…" she said almost too quickly, and too hopefully.

"Prove it then" he approached her, crouching on the balls of his feet in front her. Uncharacteristically, he grasped her chin and cockily smiled, as if challenging her. "Magua will trade you. Key, for a kiss"

Robin sucked in a sharp breath, pouting slightly at the clever fox's ploy. Kiss him, and be freed from her pet chain, or refuse, and stay cooped up inside the wigwam for god knows how many hours. Huffing, and mumbling a small curse of irritation Robin leaned forward. Magua expected her to be more shy and timid, lips barely to graze his own. But she truly kissed her, lips meeting his, with amateurish charm and skill. She lingered longer than she intended. It was only when Magua cupped the back of her head did she retreat, gasping slightly at her bashful actions. None the less Magua looked pleased with him-self.

A man of his word he fished a small dainty key out from his medicine bundle, unlocking the shackle on her wrist and freeing her from confinement. But by no means did he intend to set her loose around the camp. "You will have guard to follow you. Ongewa's son. Help women with their chores. Learn your duties, until I return…" he took her hand in a childish manner, pulling her outside now that the sun had slowly started to rise. Women were already hard at work, collecting water, setting up their stations of work and fussing over their children to keep them busy. Few glanced at Robin as she pulled along, led only a few wigwams down where Ongewa and an adolescent boy stood waiting. Ongewa regarded her haughtily, smiling like the coyote that he was.

"Where are you going?" She eyed the other Huron curiously, spotting more already making their way into the wilderness beyond the settlement border.

"Hunting…" was Magua's only reply, in his usual forceful grunt like tone. He was in the presence of his peers and fellow warriors now; he had to act according to tradition and status. As did Robin.

"For what? For who?" she then grew worried. Was he leaving to hunt down the Munro sisters?

"You have no need to know…" He turned his back to her, speaking to the boy beside Ongewa in his native tongue, clearly assigning him some task that concerned Robin, as he gestured over to her, once or twice. He then left with Ongewa, without so much as a farewell glance, much to Robin's chagrin "Magua! Please, spare them!" her plea fell on deaf ears. Within seconds the Hurons vanished into the thick vegetation of the forest, joining their brothers up ahead, ready to hunt.

Robin now found her-self awkwardly alone, standing out in the open without much standing. She glanced around, looking for some direction before finally her teal eyes settled on the young man who had stayed behind. Cautiously she asked, "You are Ongewa's son? Do you speak English?"

He regarded her briefly for a moment, looking up and down at her as if she was some spectacle to gawk at. "Some. But wife of Magua should learn the tongue of her husband. French would serve too"

So Magua was already telling people he intended to take her as his wife. Robin suddenly felt very self-conscious. What must the village think? An esteemed war chief, taking a young white gypsy wife? Trying to distract her-self she asked, "What is your name?"

The boy took a moment to choose his words "Anue. The bear" seemed to be the best response he could manage in English.

"Anue is a good name…" she smiled at him, attempting to be friendly, as she had done with Koda in the Mohawk village. The two boys were oddly similar. It was a shame they were enemies, else they could have been good friends.

Like a typical man he dismissed her compliment and gestured to a nearby group of women. "Help the women with chores. A lazy woman is no good as a wife". It seemed the Lipan taught their boys the way of male thinking quite early on. The thought caused Robin to chuckle, earning her a curious look from the boy before he gestured again to the women.

The women paid little attention to her though. Once they had shown her what to do, they left her to get on with it, momentarily checking up on her to approve her work. Anue never strayed too far. They were in the process of tanning hides collected from previous hunts. It took a lot of hard work, skinning them hides, shaving them down, stretching and drying them out. Unlike the civilised society of the English and French, the native women worked hard. From dawn till dusk they cooked, they cleaned, they cared for their children and relatives, often sat gossiping in groups, practicing their needle work and craftsmanship skills. Robin was impressed with their productivity. Nothing was wasted. Even the bladder of the elk was used to often the leather layer a ball the children used to kick about. While it was hard work, Robin was interested enough to labour without complaint, earning her some silent admiration from her older female companions. Everyone did their part in the tribe. No one was left hungry or without. A respectful quality, Robin thought. But it also meant everyone worked. While men hunted and guarded the settlement from possible attack, old men acted as scouts, stationed all around the surrounding area. Children practiced their future roles through games and exercise. Boys re-enacted battles with miniature weapons, and girls stayed close to their mothers, playing with handmade dolls and styling their hair so that in future they may be suitable for a husband.

* * *

Just as the midday sun rolled in Robin exhaustedly edged towards the nearby stream. None of the women seemed to mind so she continued within any trouble. Just as she was about to take a drink Anue galloped over to her, flustered by her absence. It seemed he had cheekily fallen asleep on duty, only to awake and find Robin gone. "Where are you going?" he crossed his arms angrily over his chest, in some sort of masculine display of power.

Robin however bared her bloody cut hands at him, without much reaction "To wash my hands".

They were swollen, cut and blistered from all the constant hard work. Anue empathetically relented, nodding his head to the stream whilst he waited by a nearby tree. As Robin knelt by stream, washing her cuts clean in the water she spotted a reflection further downstream. The hunting party had returned, and they brought with them prisoners.

"Alice! Cora!" Robin shot to her feet, troubled by their appearance. Alice and Cora, bounded at the hands, looked exhausted. Their clothes wet and soggy, but otherwise they seemed unharmed. Unlike poor Heyward, who was being dragged by a rope around his neck like a conquered enemy. He bore ugly bruises and whelps on his face and exposed arms. Clearly he had put up some sort of a fight. And lost. "Major Heyward!" Robin dashed up stream to meet with the party, just before they entered the village.

"Robert?" Alice stared at her blankly for a moment, recognising the familiar face "You're alive!" The commotion caught Heyward's attention, who with a swollen eye, peered to have a look. "Rob? Good God you can speak!"

Cora however took one look at Robin and exclaimed the obvious "Good God, you're a girl!" to which Robin could only respond to with a shy apologetic smile. The reunion was short lived. The captives were forced forward by the Hurons. Magua was seen trailing behind the party on the incline of the landscape. He spotted Robin and angrily shouted at Anue, who quickly grabbed a hold of Robin to take her back to the village, away from where her English companions would likely be kept.

She did not resist, but she verbally protested, beseeching the youth to answer her worries. "Anue, please. What's going to happen to them?"

He seemed reluctant to answer, already in trouble with Magua for letting her wandering out to meet her friends. "The Sachem will decide…". With that he placed her outside Magua's wigwam, sitting within a couple of feet so there was no way she could sneak off. Robin could only sit there and fidget with a rag of unfinished bead work. She was told to practice her needlework by one of women, though she found it as distasteful as did back at the fort with the civilised English women. It looked bored, and it was bored. The number of times she pricked her finger were as numerous as the children that came up to her to stare. Anue would eventually shoo them off with some threat or another, but for now they were doing no harm.

Feeling so depressed and alone, in a foreign land, with her companions' fate in the balance she did what she could in such desperate times to lift her woes. She sang out in remorse. Her voice carried out in the afternoon air. All in the village paused to listen, bewitched by her vocal melody. Even the elderly sachem wandered out of his home to hear her. None truly knew why she sang. Some assumed she sang to the sun, bidding it greeting and thanks for its presence. Even Anue peered at her in silent interest, bewitched by the type of singing he had never heard of before. The moment however was short lived. Magua appeared, walking back from the heart of the settlement, looking at displeased as always.

He came up to her, roughly seizing her back the scruff of her neck and forcing her inside the wigwam once more, dismissing Anue with a wave of his hand. "Your voice belongs to me, Little Bird, only I may hear it" he soundly oddly possessive. Perhaps it was the lustful and appreciative stares he had seen thrown her way by his fellow warriors. Robin was not his wife yet, and any one of them could easily challenge him for ownership.

"I sing when I please" seeing her companions alive again had renewed her boldness. Instead of submitting and cowering like any woman receiving a scolding, she stood her ground; fists clench, shoulder back and head high, staring him right in the eyes with her outburst.

Magua didn't like it would bit, and quickly sought to end it. "Cease with your defiance, it will change nothing." As they spoke the Lipan council were discussing the fate of Magua's captives. All of them. He would soon be called to give his input before anything else proceeded.

"We wouldn't know unless I tried…" she smartly remarked, starting to pace in the length of the wigwam whilst eyeing the entrance flap him. Surely she wasn't thinking of another escape attempt. Magua would be forced to throttle her for such foolishness.

"What will it take to tame you?" he stepped forward, cornering her further back into the wigwam "The fineness furs, the sweetest of oils? all this I would give you, for your surrender" He attempted to bargain with her, gain the same ground they had exchanged earlier that day. But Robin stubbornly refused. "I want none of it…"

Magua, growing angrier with the thought of losing Robin, bellowed "Then what do you want!?"

Robin's hostile posture changed to one of defeat and pleas. "Release them…Release me" tears threatened to fall. She feared for the lives of her companions. She feared for her freedom. Whatever fantasy Magua had she didn't want to be a part of it, not if it caused harm to others.

Sensing her slight surrender, Magua calmly stated, "This I cannot give…" he finally had the Munro sisters. Vengeance was within his reach once again.

Frowning Robin turned away from him, shaking her head in unfairness. "Then you have no right to ask anything from me."

"This is war; little bird…none can be spared" he approached her again, locking her in his embrace before her mood changed and once more she became a wildcat.

Staring at the blank cover of the wigwam, she solemnly vowed "If you hurt them Magua…I will never forgive you. If they die, I will see to it I follow"

"Why?" His heart clenched in anguish at the very thought of losing her. What made it even worse was that he was sure she would be crazy enough to do it. This crazy girl who's heart ruled over her mind. "What are they to you…you are…different. I see this. These are not your people. Why cling to their existence?" he needed to draw her away from them, separate and crush this feeling of loyalty and sense of obligation she seemed to have so strongly.

She twisted in his grasp to try and face him, her eyes so wide and watery with unshed tears, it stabbed at his heart. "Because they are all I have…Major Heyward taught me to fire a rifle…Alice gave me sweets when no one was looking…Cora used to read to me. They don't deserve to die" she started to struggle again, desperate to escape his hold, though Magua turned her to face him completely, cupping his face in his hands so she forced to stare at him right in the eyes. His expression was tight with an unidentifiable emotion. Agony and resentment shone in his eyes.

"Your heart bleeds these people…why can't it bleed for me? Is my pain not worth your sympathy too?"

She opened her mouth to response, but no words seemed right to use. She sympathised with his pain, but not his actions, he was a villain, but not a monster. How could she rebuff him? He didn't give her a chance. Forcefully he kissed her, desperate to end this moment of unwelcome emotion and debate. In his mind he cursed her with every name under and the sun and she did the same. Their mutual inner turmoil was bouncing off each other, stoking the inferno that was fast becoming their twisted version of love, even if neither one would openly admit or acknowledge it. For now this was attraction of friction. A moment of heated passion brought on by two indestructible forces of nature. A man's insatiable hunger and a woman's unrivalled resolve.

"Magua…the council is ready" Ongewa's interruption ended the moment. He was stood outside the wigwam waiting.

Magua and Robin pushed away from each other, stunned for a moment by one another's reactions. Magua however regained his composure first. "It is time…" he took a length of nearby rope and bound Robin's wrist once again. All captives had to be present, so their each of their fates could be decided. As much as Magua wanted to keep Robin away in the wigwan he could not. He took her arm and dragged her out so that they could make their way to the heart of the settlement, where the other captives were already being presented. Robin prayed to the gods for some sort of miracle to save them.

"A Mohican!"

* * *

A/N- dun dun dun ! and guess what, Robin dies ! hahahaha no that doesn't really happen. But stay tuned and find out what does ! review and rate please !


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